


as heavy as can be

by Letssingaboutit



Category: Man of Steel (2013), Superman (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letssingaboutit/pseuds/Letssingaboutit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He disappears for two weeks. No, that’s not true. He’s everywhere. He disappears from Lois’ life. He doesn’t call, doesn’t write, doesn’t reach out for her. The moment he left her arms in the destroyed train station, she lost him. He was there between her arms, his face against her belly, her hands soothingly brushing his hair and, for a brief second, she felt like he belonged to her, was hers to claim. But then he was gone, and the truth sunk in. He wasn’t hers anymore. He never was. He belongs to this planet, to its people. There were more important things to do than mourn, than hold her, and Lois knew that. She fears, although she will never recognize it, that there will always be more important things in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Clois fic, I hope you enjoy it! English is not my native language, so bare with me. More chapters to come. :)
> 
> Ps: I don't own anything. Except, maybe, the feelings.

**As heavy as can be.**

  
_I asked you a question and I didn't need you to reply_   
_Is it getting heavy?_   
_But then I realize, is it getting heavy_   
_Well, I thought it was already as heavy as can be_   
_Tell everybody waiting for Superman_   
_That they should try to hold on the best they can_   
_He hasn't dropped them, forgot them or anything_   
_It's just too heavy for a Superman to lift_   


  
_Is it getting heavy?_   
_Well, I thought it was already as heavy as can be_   


_(lyrics from "Waiting for a Superman" by Iron and Wine)_

* * *

_  
_   


 

He disappears for two weeks.

No, that’s not true. He’s everywhere.

He disappears from Lois’ life. He doesn’t call, doesn’t write, doesn’t reach out for her. The moment he left her arms in the destroyed train station, she lost him. A brief glance and a kiss to her cheek… and then he’d flown away into the city, between the slag and the dirt. He left her standing there alone, in a pile of garbage, while the dust in the air sticks to tears that are streaming down her face.

He was there between her arms, his face against her belly, her hands soothingly brushing his hair. For a brief second, she felt like he belonged to her, was hers to claim.

But then he was gone, and the truth sunk in. He wasn’t hers anymore. He never was. He belongs to this planet, to its people. There were more important things to do than mourn, than hold her, and Lois knew that. She fears, although she will never recognize it, that there will always be more important things in his life.

So she tries to forget about him, tries to go back to her life, tries to help this town in a different way, in her own way. But it’s not easy to forget him when he’s everywhere (but besides her).

He is in every single news report, in every paper, his new name slips into every conversation, the casual and the serious. His symbol appears out of nowhere in between the ashes that lay where once Metropolis used to be, in posters and graffitis, in shirts and tattoos. The legend of Superman emerges from the remains of the city, and the citizens take what’s left of them and rebuild themselves after his example.

He’s almost a saint. An omnipresent hero. A silent protector. A ray of hope between the dust that still floats in the air.

Lois still has a hard time when she tries to breath that air. It feels heavy in her lungs, in her throat, as if she is inhaling every single scream that filled the city atmosphere in the past weeks. She can hardly sleep anymore, and she can’t seem to bring herself to eat.

She writes, though. She can’t think of a moment on her life when she couldn’t write. She chuckles. She can’t breath, she can’t eat, she can’t sleep and she can’t love, but she still can take a piece of paper and a pen an disappear for two days, just to come back later with a new story between her hands.

She writes about him, of course. Two days after the invasion, she wrote a three page article about the whole shebang (well, not about everything. There are a few aspects of the story that she’d prefer to keep for herself, because a part of her likes to separate the story of Superman from the story of Lois and Clark). An hour after the papers where put on the stands, the Daily Planet was completely sold out. The internet version of the article broke every record in the world, and Lois knew that her name would always be related to the new hero.

She doesn’t even want to think about how much that excites her.

Then, the phone started to ring. The FBI, the ONU, every single paper or news agency in the world, even the Pope himself. Everyone wanted to know more about Earth’s new friend, and Lois was the only path that seemed to conduced to him.

She didn’t say a world. Not a single thing.

“Miss Lane, you understand that this could be considered a case of treason?” a very serious, very tall man told her one afternoon, in her little cubicle at the bullet, while he looked at her as if she was crazy. (Maybe she is).

“I’m sorry, but if you want more information about him, you’d have to ask yourself” she answered, using the same generic phrase that she used in every meeting, every phone call, every email.

“And, how am I supposed to do that?” the man asked, in a sigh.

“I think he’s repairing the highway bridges this morning. I’d say you can start with that” she said, pointing in the direction of the little Tv that showed Superman and a few more workers trying to straighten the iron bars of what it used to be a bridge.

The man only gave her a side glance, filled with hatred, before he left the building without saying nothing more.

But she can’t always handle the situation so gracefully. Not this afternoon, at least. When the phone rings for what it feels like the millionth time, she freaks out. She ends up screaming at Perry and Jimmy and everyone around her, and White just sends her home.

She leaves the office, but she doesn’t go home. Instead, she takes the elevator and climbs to the last floor, to where they keep the office supplies and that kind of stuff, carrying only a coffee and her purse. She sits in a box, takes off her shoes, and looks out of the window. She can see the ruins from here, the baste space where once there were buildings and shops, cars and noise, life in its most common expression. Now there’s nothing. She tries to remember how it was before. The little Gelatto shop two blocks down to her right, the place where she used to buy old records and books, the park outside the Central Police Station where she liked to sit in her lunch breaks. Everything is gone. It’s been ripped away from them.

Paradoxically, she feels empty and, yet, there’s a burden in her chest that doesn’t let her breath.

And then, when she feels like everything in her world has fell apart… she sees him. She stands up, and the coffee slips from her hands and falls to the floor. She breaths for the first time in weeks.

He’s nothing more than a blue and red trail that stands out between the gray tones of the concrete. He flies between the buildings on the other side of the street, as if he’s checking the ruins, supervising them, and Lois walks to the window, laying her hand and her forehead against it, smiling like and idiot.

“Clark…” she says, in a whisper that is barely audible and that slips unconsciously from her lips, as a tear slides down her cheek, the same cheek he kissed the last time they saw each other.

But he hears her. He appears in front of her so fast that she thinks she’s imagining it. There he is, on the other side of the window, his cape floating in the breeze, his eyes glimmering under the sun.

“Lois…” he says, and even thought she can’t really hear his voice through the thick glass, she knows he’s calling her. It’s not his voice what she feels. His eyes are doing the work. She presses both of her hands to the glass, and he comes closer to it, resting his hand in the other side. He looks tired. His hair is messy and there are bags under his eyes, and Lois wonders if he’s reached his ceiling. Is that even possible?

“Come home. Please.” she begs. She can’t even control the longing in her voice, but she doesn’t really care. He half smiles, looking down, and Lois is about to ask him to shred the glass into pieces and take her away from everything, to another time and place, away from the phones and the bridges, away from the Daily Planet and the cape.

He looks at her then, and nods. He’s smiling so brightly that she feels her knees going weak.

“I’ll be there” he’s saying.

“I’ll be waiting” she responds. He slowly flies away from the glass, from the window, from her. But his eyes don’t leave Lois’ face until he turns to the right and disappears between the buildings.

She races down to the street, races to the only functional train station, races to her apartment.

(The blush on her cheeks and the smile on her lips never leave her face).

  
-oo-

  
Her apartment is nothing fancy or big, really. She does make good money from her job, and she could live in the prettier side of the city, in a nice loft with a good view. Still, she never seemed to be able to leave the place that saw her in her very first steps as a writer. She loves her little nest. Loves to come home after a long day at work, or after three months in the middle of the desert, where she’s been living in a tent while trying to gather information for her next story.

She’s always loved this place but now, for the first time, she feels insecure about it. How is she supposed to receive the World’s greatest hero in here? It’s not even clean. But, then again, nothing is really clean in this town anymore.

And, what does he eat, anyway? Does he like wine? Can he even drink it, for the matter? She has some, somewhere. She knows she had a few bottles somewhere. But that’s pretty vague.

She goes down street, to the little market that is always open, and buys two bottles of wine, some vegetables and a frozen chicken. She buys some chocolate, too, because she figures that’s something so universal, that even a kryptonian would like it.

She’s about to put the key in the lock when she feels it. She knows this sensation, the feeling when you know what’s about to happen, a hunch. Her whole professional life is cemented around her intuition.

She tries to fix her hair a little before she opens the door. And there he is, sitting in her little kitchen, reading the Daily Planet.

“You look beautiful, you don’t have to fix anything” he says, standing up, and Lois throws the bags into the couch and runs into his arms, holding him close, breathing in his sent. He smells just like the autumn breeze, and his suit feels cold against her skin. She’s about to cry with joy.

He rests his chin in the crown of her head, holding her so lightly, with so much care, as if she could brake between his arms (and technically, she would, but that doesn’t scare her).

“Where have you been, Clark Kent?” she whispers, raising her head to look at him in the eyes, taking his beautiful face between her hands. He smiles, chuckles even, and runs his fingers through her hair.

“How come you don’t know? I’m everywhere these days. It’s almost impossible not to see me” he answers, almost bitterly. She shakes her head.

“I know where Superman has been. I’m concerned about Clark’s whereabouts” she explains, caressing his jaw with her fingers, marveling in the fact that even thought he’s been working day and night, he looks clean, immaculate, perfect. He rests his forehead against her, and takes a deep breath.

“I’m fine now. Perfect, even” he whispers, closing his eyes, and she can feel every single muscle in his body relaxing. She wants to laugh, and she doesn’t even know why. She’s so relieved to have him with her again, to see him, to feel him, that she feels she might explode in any moment.

“Why did you disappear?” she asks, and she knows she sounds almost childish, but she has to ask. He opens his eyes to look at her.

“I just… I came here a few times, but you were always sleeping. And you always seemed busy at the office and I didn’t want to bother you” he says, wholeheartedly, speaking nothing but truth. “But you must know, Lois… that you were always on my mind. The longer the day, the more I think of you” he finishes, his whole face smiling, his cheeks blushing as if he is nothing but a teenager. Lois pats his cheek affectionately, while she feels her heart melting in her chest.

“I might have thought of you a few times, too…” she says, teasing him, earning a chuckle in response. She leans closer then, as close as she can without kissing him, and whispers against his lips “You are never a burden, Clark. Next time, wake me up, drag me out of the office, kidnap me in the street, I don‘t care… but promise me you won’t disappear again” she says, half pleading, half reprimanding him. He holds her even more closely, his hands in her back, his strong chest against her own. She might be imagining it, but she can almost swear she can feel his heart pounding against her. Or maybe it’s her own heart.

“I can’t promise I won’t disappear… but I can promise that I will always come back to you. Always” he says, before he brings her to him, kissing her slightly as first, as if her lips were snowflakes, and Lois holds him by the shoulders, kissing him back, holding her breath until she starts to feel dizzy.

Or maybe that has nothing to do with her breathing.

She tries to remember everything about this, about him. Tries to make a list of the things that happen around her when he’s this close. Tries to built the dream where she will let herself drift away in the cold long nights, when Clark won’t be by her side. She is afraid that now that she has him… she’ll miss him even more.

She could live between his arms forever.

She loses her balance for a second, as she loses herself between his kisses, and knocks one of the kitchen chairs to the floor. Clark catches it before it lands, and carefully sets it in its place.

“I think I got a little bit too carried away…” Lois jokes, while she settles back in his arms. He smiles warmly, and looks at her with so much devotion that she feels herself blushing.

“And I think you might be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen…” he answers, reaching for a strand of her hair and putting it behind her ear. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him, once in each cheek, once on the tip of his nose, a million times on his lips. His fingers have found the end of her shirt, and now she can feel them in the small of her back, as warm as a sunbeam. She not so unconsciously grinds against his hips, and she shivers when she feels him holding a groan. She separates from his lips for a second.

“Maybe we should… go to my bedroom… before I break something else…” she manages to whisper, and her voice sounds hoarse and raspy, almost indecorously, but she doesn’t really care.

Clark, however, frizzes in place. His hands leave their position in her waist, and he takes a step back, almost crushing into the small couch.

He looks bewildered. It’s almost as if his face doesn’t really match his whole image, with the suit and the muscles and the perfect everything. Lois frizzes as well, without really understanding what’s happening.

“Are… are you ok? Did I say something wrong, did I hurt you?” she asks, and she realizes how stupid that sounds after the question has escaped from her lips. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be capable of hurting him. Clark takes a deep breath, and sits in the back of her couch, stretching out his arms, inviting her. She obeys.

“It’s just that… I’m afraid I can’t… I can’t…” he’s stuttering. Lois would be melted by his cuteness if she wasn’t so concerned.

“You can’t what, honey?” she helps, trying to sound as sweet as possible, running soothing circles with her hand in his back. Then it hits her. It hits her like a spaceship filled with kryptonians that want to colonize the Earth. “You can’t have sex, that’s what you can’t do?” she asks, wondering if that’s possible, wondering if a man that has the ability to shoot fire through his eyes and seems flawless can have this minor problem. Clark moves in the couch, uncomfortable.

“It’s not that I physically can’t. Because I can.” he explains, emphasizing his words, and Lois has to hold a sigh of relief that wants to escape her lips. “It’s just… that I’m afraid I might not control my strength once we start… doing it. And I’m scared that I might end up hurting you. And that’s something I wouldn’t be able to live with, Lois. I can’t risk the chance of hurting someone I care so deeply about.” he finishes, his voice filled with sorrow, with shame. She nods, because she understands. She measures her next words carefully.

“Have you ever done it?” she asks, confidently, because she wants him to feel free to open up to her in every way. He shakes his head, and looks almost embarrassed of himself. She hugs him, then, as close as she can. She settles her head on his shoulder and kisses his neck, nuzzling her nose against it.

“It’s ok, Clark. It’s fine” she says.

“Really?” he asks, unsure. She separates from him to look him in the eye.

“Really.” she answers, taking his face between her hands, cradling it. He sighs, and relaxes in her arms. “Who knows, maybe in time we will find a way. Meanwhile… well, in many ways, I’ve been waiting a lifetime to find someone like you. I think I can wait a little more” she finishes, smiling at him. He leans into her, resting his head in her chest, and now she’s the one that rests her chin in the crown of his head, and runs her fingers through his hair.

All of a sudden, an alarm starts to sound. Lois can barely hear it, but Clark stands up immediately and walks to the window.

“It sounds like something is happening on the Electric Company” he says, turning to look at her. She nods.

“I’ll cook something, if you want to come back” she says casually, walking to him, trying to hide her disappointment. Clark smiles and kisses her.

“I prefer the white wine you bought” he whispers against her lips, nodding in the direction of the long forgotten paper bags. She has to bit her lip to suppress her grin.

“Go save the world, Kansas boy” she orders, playfully smacking his shoulder, and he flies out of the window turning into Superman in a split second, disappearing in the cold autumn air.

Lois takes the bags and turns on her computer. It’s almost midnight. Not the best time of the day to make dinner for two. She figures this is going to be her life, from now on.

Still, she thinks, as she finishes her article and fries the chicken, if Lois Lane is one thing that is adaptable.

(And falling in love).

  
-oo-

She turns in her bed, brings the sheets closer to her, and sighs. She can’t fall asleep. She’s as tired as she can be, but she can’t close her eyes.

She can’t remember a time when she’s felt this restless. The bed sheets are burning her, so she kicks them off. And then she gets cold. And the pillows are making her neck hurt. And every single noise that comes from the outside makes her sit in her bed.

Is she always going to worry about him like this? Or maybe, in time, she’ll get used to it.

She takes a look at the clock in her bedside table. It’s almost three a.m.

He usually comes to see her between the end of his day work with the cleaning-reconstruction groups, and his night watch. But today he was missing in action all day.

Sometimes, when he’s too busy to stop by, he leaves a present for her in her balcony.

The day they started cleaning the place where the Aquarium used to be, he left her a beautiful seashell of the size of an orange.

When they moved to the other side of the city, he brought her an iron flower that used to adorn one of the bridges of Metropolis’ Central Park.

He sometimes leaves actual flowers, or some candy, or even a little note. Once, he left a hat.

Her favorite present was the stack of Records that she found two days ago, when the cleaning unit moved to the block two streets away from her office. She mentioned once, casually, how much she missed the little shop. He collected all the albums he could find. They are dirty, and some of them are broken. But she still keeps them with the rest of her collection, carefully hidden inside the wooden box that she keeps in her room.

She stands up, because she wants to make sure that he didn’t left her anything. Maybe it was something so small that she just missed it.

But all she finds is an old plant pot that’s been long forgotten, and nothing more. She wants to cry.

She searches in her pantries until she finds an old bottle of vodka that she bought the last time she was in Russia. She fixes herself a drink, pouring a good amount of the drink, two ice cubes and a little bit of orange juice. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the little mirror that she has in the living room. She’s nothing more than a pale shadow with bags under her eyes. She’s almost glad he didn’t come. She looks hideous.

All of these gets forgotten when she enters her room again because right there, sitting in her unmade bed, there’s a tall, muscular men clad in a suit, his red cape sprawled over her sheets, his head in his hands.

“Thank God…” she whispers. It slips from her lips, as the air returns to her lungs. She kneels in front of him, and takes him by the forearms. He’s shaking. She’s never been more afraid in her life. “Clark… what happened?” she murmurs, running one hand on his messy hair, feeling him sigh. He looks up, and his eyes are red and swollen, and she hasn’t seen him so broken since she saw him falling to his knees on the Train Station. He looks at her for a moment, she isn’t sure for how long. But she stares back at him because she’s been craving for this moment the whole day. He leans into her, then, and rests his head on the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath that makes him shudder. She holds him as close as she can, hugging him by the shoulders.

“It’s ok. It’s ok” she repeats over and over, rocking him a bit in her arms.

It’s ok to break down. It’s ok to be tired. It’s ok to cry. It’s ok to fall once in a while.

It’s ok because she’s there to catch him.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken, as he moves away from her arms (to her discontent). “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t come here to fill you with my problems…”

“That might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard…” she half jokes, taking him by the face. There’s a glimpse of a smile in his lips, for the briefest of seconds. “Do you want to talk about it?” Lois asks, in a whisper, cleaning his cheeks with her thumbs. He swallows thickly.

“We were… we were cleaning the old Library today. There wasn’t much to clean, actually. It was so close to the Terraforming machine that there was just dirt and dust and garbage. But then I moved a piece of roof and I found… I found kids. Lots of kids. Dead kids” he finishes, and his voice is barely audible, and almost gets lost behind the sound of the storm that is forming outside. She’s crying. Silently, because she doesn’t want to interrupt him. But the tears are falling down her cheeks, and she has to clasp her hands to his shoulders to stop them from shaking.

“Clark…” she starts, but he shakes his head and his jaw tightens.

“I know what you are going to say, Lois. I know you are going to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, that I shouldn’t feel responsible, that I did my best and that I saved the lives of every other kid in this world. And maybe tomorrow, or next week, or in a year that will serve me as a comfort. Maybe one day I’ll wake up feeling better about this. But that day is not today” he states, in resignation, fisting his hands until they turn white.

Lois doesn’t know what to say. Which is a statement in itself, really. She hardly gets speechless. And yet, so far, Clark has managed to put her in that state more times than she’d like to confess.

She almost wishes he was angry. She wishes it because, in that case, he could just fly away for a day or two and punch some mountains or trees somewhere far and isolated, until his anger is nothing more than a distant memory. But this is different. She knows shame and sorrow, knows how that works. It creeps into your bones and burns your skin, and it haunts you until you can’t see, you can’t breath, you can’t feel anything but your grief. It’s intoxicating. It’s poisonous. Apparently, it attacks kryptonians with the same easiness that it attacks humans.

But then she understands why he came to her in the first place. He doesn’t need words or, in any case, he doesn’t want them. He came here because he feels weak and broken… and he needs her to fix that.

She stands up, then, and holds out her hand. He takes it, and she leads him to the bed. She lays down and he follows, and he looks so out of place laying there, with his suit and his boots still on, resting on her flowery sheets. Still, Lois is certain that after this night she will never want to be on this bed by her own.

She leans closer to him, sneaking her arm around his waist, and one of Clark’s hands finds her back, while the other laces their fingers together and brings them to his lips. They are facing each other, their foreheads touching, their legs tangled over the sheets.

She kisses him as tenderly as she can, kisses him with her lips, kisses him with her breath, kisses him with her eyelashes. He closes his eyes and sighs, and she wonders when was the last time he slept.

“You taste like oranges… and something more” he whispers, between her kisses. She smiles.

“I was worried about you” she says, and that’s all the explanation he’s going to get.

“And I thought you were a tough lady…” he mocks her. She hits him on the shoulder.

“Not everyone can just… look at the Sun for a second and become this… invincible, ultra-powerful entity!” she complains, dryly. But Clark doesn‘t laugh. He opens his bright blue eyes and looks directly at her, piercing her. She feels naked under his gaze. And she is. In many ways than one.

“My real strength doesn’t come from the Sun, Lois Lane. My powers are a gift, an instrument, even a weapon. My Powers are the “how“, but not the “why”. The Sun feeds my powers… but my source of strength lays between my arms” he says, with such conviction and truthfulness, that his voice sends shivers down her spine.

“You could chose any woman on the face of the Earth… and you chose me?” she answers, caressing his jaw with the tip of her fingers, the joy bubbling in her chest like a glass of the finest Champaign. He chuckles.

“I could tell you the same thing” he says.

“Well, I didn’t have another option, really. The other kryptonians were not as nice as you are. Or handsome, for the matter” she jokes, and he laughs, really laughs, loud and clear and oh so beautifully. He laughs and she laughs and he rolls her in bed, holds her in his arms, settles her against his chest. She crosses her arms over the “S” of his suit, and rest her head in there, looking straight at him. He runs his hands down her hair, the tips of his fingers brushing her back, and his breathing gets slow and heavy as he falls asleep.

She follows him, eventually, when the Sun is slowly rising between the buildings.

She wonders, before she drifts away, if the “S” on his suit could stand for “soul mate”.

(Boy he’s making her cheesy!)

 


	2. why don't we just sit and stare and do nothing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to thank everyone for the kind reviews and the kudos. I never imagined that this will have such repercussion.  
> Thank you, from the bottom of my heart! And I hope you enjoy reading this second chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> Much Love <3

-II-

  
_You're the nicest, nicest boy I've ever met_   
_And then I think about you, then I think about you again and again_   
_Why don't we just sit and stare and do nothing?_   
_Nothing at all for a while, I like the way you smile_   


  
_I could be your state and I could be your nation_   
_It doesn't get better than home, now does it?_   
_Doesn't get better than home, now does it?_   
_I could be your welcome, I could be your greeter_   
_I could be sweet and I could be sweeter_   
_I want to be where your heart is home_   


  
_I want to see you with the light in the morning_   
_There's never been such a beautiful warning to me, to me_   


  
_Why don't we just sit and stare and do nothing?_   
_Nothing at all for a while, I like the way you smile_   


_(Lyrics of Home, by She &Him)_

* * *

_  
_  


He agrees to spend one afternoon with her. One lazy Sunday afternoon, with no capes, no phones, no superspeed or articles to be edited. It takes Lois three days to convince him, but eventually she succeeds (she had to give him the cold shoulder for twenty seconds. That’s all it took, really. Two and a half days of begging couldn’t do the work, but less than a minute of silence was enough to seal the deal).

She’s elated when she wakes up to find a clear, diaphanous sky waiting for them. There’s not a single cloud above, and the Sun is glowing with that warm and tender light that only shines in the Autumn.

She lays in her bed for a moment, trying to remember when was the last time that she felt this excited about something in her life. The list is short: a few important interviews, her sixtieth birthday (just because his father had promised to buy her her first computer), the day she entered the Daily Planet and… nothing more. Not a single romantic date enters on that list, and she has had a few (more than she’d like to remember).

Is this a date, after all? She doesn’t really know. They’ve spent time together before, almost everyday. They’ve reach a level of trust and intimacy that Lois has never had before. She thinks she might be falling in love with him. Hell, if she speaks wholeheartedly and without giving it a second thought, she could even confess she’s already in love. But that doesn’t change the fact that they don’t really know each other. Not entirely, at least.

She knows Clark’s core, knows his deepest secrets, fears, hopes, his essence. But she hardly knows anything about the tiny, little, multiple layers that cover that core. And that doesn’t scare her nor discourages her affections. If anything, it just makes her more excited.

This might be what people feel, after all. This is what everybody fusses about. And she has to admit… she likes it.

She puts some effort in her look, then. Because if this is a potential date (and their first date, nonetheless) she needs to bring her A game. Whatever that means.

So, no ugly pantsuits and vests. No messy hair. She wants to impress him, as crazy as it sounds (because this man has seen a lot, has lived a lot. This is a man that can both literally and figuratively sweep Lois off her feet).  
Still, she doesn’t really have nice clothes. Most of her closet is filled with her working clothes and a few shirts and jeans that she usually wears when she’s traveling. She sighs. She’s definitely not made of dating material. She talks to much, she’s stubborn, she tends to be sarcastic and she can be really frank (and even unpleasant) if she doesn’t like something. In resume, a fantastic mix of qualities for a journalist… but not so much for a girl in her thirties who wants to find a husband.

Or a partner. Yes, that’s the word. She doesn’t want a husband, because she’s not sure she’d make a good wife. But a partner is something completely different. A partnership is based on equality. There are no specific roles to be filled. A partnership is everything that marriage should be, a more.

And, why is she even thinking about these things? When did she turned into a character in one of those horrible 90’s romcoms? She’s almost ashamed of herself.

She tries to forget about the whole marriage thing by looking for an outfit in her closet. It’s a hard task. Eventually, she settles for a pair of jeans and a red sweater, mostly because there isn’t much more variety. She has a good pair of boots, though.

She showers, combs her hair, puts on some light make up, and sits and waits.

Not even a minute passes when she hears someone knocking at her door.

“Well, that’s new…” she murmurs, a smile appearing on her lips. She opens the door to find him awkwardly standing on the little corridor, a small bucket of flowers in his hands, the old baseball cap in his head and a shy smile on his lips.

“Come in, Kansas boy” she says, marveling on the fact that he’s not wearing his uniform. He always looks gorgeous, with his bright blue eyes and his perfect hair and that face that looks like it was carved by the angels. But his new attire (a white shirt, some jeans and a pair of sneakers) makes him look closer to the man that Lois loves, the farm boy from Kansas that wants to do the right thing.

“These are for you” he answers, stepping in, and lending her the flowers. “I picked them from my mother’s garden. I hope you like them” he adds, as she puts them in a glass with water.

“Well, I like you. And the flowers. But mostly you” she replies, kissing his cheek. He looks so proud of himself that she has to repress a chuckle.

They stay quiet for a second, as if both of them were confused about this new state of affairs.

Lois smiles then, out of nowhere, doing her best to suppress a laugh. Clark smiles, too, but he looks completely lost.

“What?” he asks. She shrugs.

“Nothing, it’s just… that I was worried about this” she answers. He gets closer, maybe unconsciously, and his voice gets low.

“But… this was your idea?” he says, unsure. She crosses her arms.

“I know, I know! It’s just… I’m not a “date” kind of girl. And, for what I gather, you are not a “date” guy either” she explains, nervously, looking down. There’s a moment of silence… and then Clark starts to chuckle. He looks like a little kid, in fact. “Why- Are you laughing at me, Kent? That’s really low!”

“I’m not laughing at you, Lois. I’m amuse by the fact that this fearless, incredibly intrepid woman who can fight her way out of a space ship is afraid of a simple date. That’s all” Clark says, still having a hard time trying to control his laughter, but his eyes are full of that gleam, that joy, that softens Lois’ heart.

“Well, I’m a hard girl to love, Clark, and I‘m highly aware of that!” she states. He gets serious, then, and comes closer to her, resting his hands on her forearms.

“I couldn’t disagree more” he whispers, smiling down at her, running his hands up and down her arms. She grins, then, releasing a soft laugh, and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him. She’ll never stop marveling about how soft his lips are, and how his cheeks are always warm under her touch, and how his long eyelashes tickle against her own cheeks. He smells like grass and aftershave, and his arms circle her so softly and tenderly that, for a second, she feels as if they have somehow merged into one.

(She‘s reaching new levels of corniness, and she doesn‘t even care).

“I like your sweater…” he compliments, between kisses, and she smiles.

“I’m glad you like it, because it’s the only nice thing I could find on my closet”

“Lois, you were wearing a jumpsuit the first time I kissed you. I think we can agree that I really don’t care about what you wear” he jokes, brushing a strand of her hair off her face.

“What if I’m not wearing anything?” she teases, lowering her voice, playing with the buttons of his shirt. He smiles and shakes his head, leaning closer to kiss her one last time before he lets go of her, and heads to the door.

“Where are we going?” she asks, taking her purse and her keys.

“Wherever you want” he answers, taking her hand. She thinks about it, while they walk their way down the corridor, into the street. She holds his arm with her free hand, her cheek resting in his shoulder.

“Can we go to Paris?” she jokes.

“Oh, I’m sorry Lois. I’m not allowed to use my powers today. Dating rules, you see” he answers, leaning closer to her, making sure she’s the only one who is listening. She sighs, faking disappointment.

“I guess the Park will have to do it, then” she says, in resignation.

(She doesn't even remember why she was nervous on the first place).

  
-oo-

  
“When did you decided you wanted to be a reporter?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee. She thinks about it for a second, as she sits in the grass.

“Well… I guess it wasn’t much of a decision at the beginning. I just… I didn’t like anything else. I wasn’t good at anything else, either. I was mildly good at everything, but not good enough to dedicate myself to it” she explains, resting her back against a tree. He sits on the grass besides her, facing her, stretching his long legs. “I was a curious kid. I was always reading and investigating things, random things. It was annoying, actually. I was a smartass. But that doesn’t mean I had good grades. I didn’t like to study, but I loved to learn. I don’t know if that makes sense at all…”

“It does” he assures her, trying to encourage her by giving her his brightest smile. She smiles, too, because she can’t help it.  
“Eventually, I understood that I also possessed other qualities that were good for this job. Qualities that you can’t learn, that they won’t teach you anywhere. So if I managed to concentrate on my studies for a few years, to put my whole energy there, sooner or later I was going to find my path, my propose in life. And I did. I think” she finishes, taking a long sip of her own coffee. Clark frowns.

“You think? You are not sure?” he asks, confused. She sighs, and scoots closer to him.

“I used to be. For quite a while, actually. But lately… something has changed. I don’t know how to explain it. A few months ago, I was sitting in my motel room in a small town in the middle of nowhere… and I felt strangely isolated. I had just have an interview with one of the people that you saved, the ones on the platform in the ocean, and I was really happy about it. It was huge. I was getting closer to closing this story that had been haunting me for the past months… and I had no one to talk to about it. No one to share my happiness with. And I don’t know why, but that idea frightened me. I’ve always been alone, don’t get me wrong. I work better that way. Or at least that’s what I say to myself to feel better about it. The thing is, that until that moment I’d never felt lonely. I’d never felt that burden on my shoulders. I can be a great reporter, the best one, I know how to be it. But… what happens after? Have you ever wonder? What are you going to do when you are not saving the world?” she asks, intrigued, leaving her now empty cup of coffee on the ground. He seems to be deeply in thought, completely moved by her words. He’s about to answer when someone interrupts them.

“Excuse me, Miss Lane? I’m sorry to bother you” an old man says, bowing his head a little to look at her in the eyes. “I’m Marlon, and this is my grandson Stephen. He’s a huge Superman fan and he’s wondering if you could sign one of his magazines…” he explains, and only then Lois notices the little boy that is standing behind him, hiding himself. He’s wearing a cape that seems to be made from an old tablecloth. She looks at Clark from the corner of her eye. He’s smiling slightly, trying to hide his face on the shadow of his baseball cap.

“Of course we can talk about him! Tell me, who made your cape?” she asks, warmly, searching for a pen in her purse.

“My grandma” he mumbles, shyly, while sits on the grass and gives her a little comic book. It’s the first time she sees one of this. It’s not very long, it doesn’t have more than ten pages, but it tells a story. The story of how Superman saved Metropolis. She swallows thickly, because suddenly a lump has formed in her throat.

“Where did you get this?” she asks, looking at the little kid and then at his grandpa.

“They are selling them in the neighborhoods. I don’t know who draws them, but they are based on your articles” the old man explains, shoving his hands on his pockets.

“That is you. Lois Lane” the kid says, pointing at one of the drawings. Then she sees herself, clad in the green jumpsuit, standing in the ruins of Metropolis, right behind Superman. The drawing looks a lot like her. Except for the fact that her boobs are huge, but she has read enough comics to know that that is something inherent to the genre itself. She doesn’t even want to look at Clark. She think she might burst into tears if their eyes meet.

“And why… why am I in this?” she shakily inquires, containing the emotion on her voice. The kid shrugs.

“Because you are Superman’s best friend. You helped him save the world” he says, with that simplicity, that naiveté that kids generally possess. She signs it, then. Right on top of their brightly colored faces. “Where is he now, Miss Lane?” the kid asks, when she retrieves the magazine. She has to suppress a chuckle.

“Well, he’s doing superhero stuff” she answers, and only then she dares to take a look at Clark. He’s sitting so rigidly that she fears he will never be able to move again.

“Do you think I could meet him sometime? Would you talk to him about me? Please? I want to be a superhero when I grow up!” Stephen says, and his lack of confidence has disappeared. Lois leans closer to him, to whisper in his ear.

“I’ll tell you this, buddy. Superman is always around, always watching out for you, for us. Keep your eyes open” she says, as if she’s sharing her deepest secret with him. Stephen’s grin barely fits in his little face.

“Do you have anything of his? Something you could give me?” he begs, looking at her with his big, bright eyes. Lois is lost.

“I- I don’t think so…”

“Lois, didn’t you say that Superman gave you this coin?” Clark interrupts her, giving her an old quarter. She takes it, and notices that it feels warm in her fingers. She turns it in her palm, to find a freshly forged “S” in the other face of the corner. Clark winks at her, and she smiles back.

“Yes! I have forgotten about the coin! Here, Stephen. It’s for you” she says, giving it to the kid, who stands up as he closely examines the little piece of metal.

“Look, gramps! It’s Superman’s sign! It’s the ‘S’” he screams, delighted, shoving the coin into his grandpa’s face.

“Oh, it’s not an “S”, Stephen. It’s a symbol. See, in Superman’s world, that means ‘Hope’” Lois explains, and even though she can’t see him, she can almost feel Clark smiling like an idiot. “Take care of it for me, ok?”

“Of course, Miss Lane! Thank you!” he screams, throwing his arms around her, almost knocking her to the ground.

“Come on, Steve, lets go. Miss Lane must be tired of us” his grandpa tells him, taking him by the shoulders. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lane. Keep up with the good work” he says, lending his hand. Lois takes it, giving it a good shake.

“The pleasure was mine. Take care of this potential superhero” she replies, and Stephen smiles, takes the corners of his capes and runs away, pretending to fly. His grandpa waits until he’s a few feet away to put a hand in Clark’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“We are rooting for you, son. God be with you” he says, in a whisper, leaving them before Clark can answer properly. They stay silent for a second, both trying to process what just happened.

“I guess the cap is not going to work” Clark says, scrunching his nose. Lois lets out a laugh, and sits in his lap, on top of his crossed legs.

“What about a beard?” she proposes, running her fingers up and down his clean jaw. He shakes his head.

“That’s unpractical” he answers, deep in thought, and she has to agree. She takes a minute to think about it. A disguise is more than just a different attire, a mysterious look. A disguise is something that fools people into thinking that you are something you are not. It’s a matter of perception, she thinks. If Superman is strong, omnipresent and undefeatable, Clark Kent needs to be anything but that.

“What about a pair of glasses?” she adventures, following that line of thought.

“That… is brilliant” he replies, smiling brightly, bringing her closer to kiss her on the cheek.

“I thought so. Some big, nerdy glasses. And maybe a messy hair. And an ugly tie”

“Ok, I think I got the general idea” he teases her, silencing her with a quick kiss on her lips. He looks at her then, with the purest of adorations shining in his clear eyes. “Aren’t you a real heroin, Lois Lane…” he whispers, running his fingers through her hair. She grins, as she feels herself flushing a bit under his gaze.

“That’s the word on the streets, apparently” she answers, and he chuckles. She can feel his chest vibrating against her, doing nothing but deepening her own joy. He turns around and rests his back against the tree, and she settles in his arms, resting her own back against his chest. She interlaces their hands, and her head drops in his shoulder.

“Lois?” he asks, after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“How much access to information you have on your work?” he inquires. She snorts.

“Technically, not much. But Lois Lane never lets a technicality get in the way of her next big story” she answers, honestly. She can feel him smiling against her hair.

“I figured that much” he murmurs. His voice sounds peacefull and quiet, and she wonders when was the last time that he let himself relax like this.

From the top of her head, she can count six times. 

(In all of them, she was between his arms).

 

-oo-

 

“I need to go back to Smallville, my mother is waiting for me” he says for the millionth time, as Lois moves in his lap, getting closer to him, kissing his neck.

“Just five more minutes”

“You said that half an hour ago”

“Can’t you fly at the speed of sound, Kansas boy? I bet you’d be in Smallville in a wink”

She sounds almost childish. She doesn’t care. The prospect of spending the night without him is too horrific to care about this minor details.

“I thought I was not allowed to used my powers” he says, resting his hands on the small of her back. She is five seconds away from taking his hands and setting them in her ass.

Again, she just doesn’t care. She wants him too much to care.

“You were not allowed to used them while we were on our date. You can use them once we finish”

“Oh, so this was a date after all?”

“You know what? I’m not sure. I think we will have to go on another date to get to the bottom of it”

“I’d be more than glad” he replies, happily, and takes her by her chin, bringing her lips to his, kissing her deeply but gently.

“Don’t do that?”

“What?”

“Don’t kiss me goodbye” she begs, in a whisper, and he smiles.

“For every time I kiss you goodbye, I have a “hello” kiss saved” he states, kissing her again, and she can’t help the little giggle that escapes her lips.

“Then goodbye…” she says, kissing his cheeks “Goodbye” she repeats, kissing his jaw “Goodbye” she mutters, as she kisses him on the lips until her own lips run dry.

He stands up, leaving his place on the couch, but she’s still wrapped around him, her legs on his waist, her arms on his shoulders. She only lets go of him when he reaches the door, her bare feet landing in the carpet with a soft sound.

“See you tomorrow” he promises, leaning closer to her and kissing her for the thousandth time on that afternoon. She sighs, and kisses him back, melting in his arms.

“Go. Go, Kansas boy, or I might end up kidnapping you” she warns, pushing him away, opening the door.

“I’d like you to see you trying…” he teases her, as he puts on his cap again, and kisses her one last time, this time on the cheek. He disappears, then, quickly and silently and leaving her standing at the door, with a smile on her lips, and her mind in a haze.

How empty her house feels when he’s not there? It’s stupid.

She writes an article, then. Writes about Stephen. Writes about the comic books. Writes about hope and ideals and about how much Superman has changed their lives.

Because he has changed their lives. He has saved them, he has chosen them.

Maybe that’s just the way she feels.

(Maybe, just maybe, hopefully, she has changed his life a bit, too).


	3. for whatever my man is, i'm his

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for the wonderful response!!   
> I don't know where this chapter came from. Hope you like it! <3

-iii-

for whatever my man is, I am his

  
Oh, my man, I love him so, he'll never know  
All my life is just despair, but I don't care  
When he takes me in his arms  
The world is bright, all right...  
What's the difference if I say I'll go away  
When I know I'll come back on my knee someday  
For whatever my man is, I am his forever more

(Lyrics of My Man, from the movie Funny Girl)

  
There’s something so particular about the way he pronounces her name. Lois can’t quite place why, but every time she hears him saying it, she has to stop herself from smiling.

The thing is, Clark calls her, and the name escapes from his lips with such an easiness, and it’s almost as if his eating a piece of candy.

She could make a list of her favorite pronunciations.

“Why isn’t this line moving faster? Can’t you burn them all with your heat vision?” she complains, while they wait on line on the supermarket. And then…

“Lois…” he says, and it sounds like a warning, but there’s a hint of amusement in his tone. She sighs.

“Relax, nobody heard me. Although, maybe if they hear me, they would hurry up…”

“You can go back to the apartment, if you want. I’ll wait for our stuff”

“What? No, I want to be with you. We came here to spend time together”

“Really? I thought we came here to complain about the slow costumers…”

“Don’t push my buttons, Kent”

He smiles. Brightly, sheepishly, suppressing a chuckle. He looks so handsome that’s almost unfair, because she can’t kiss him right there on the line of the supermarket.

Wait- that’s not true. She can.

She takes him by the nape of his neck and brings him down, crushing her lips against his, tasting the salt that the peanuts he was eating earlier have left. She can feel his surprise, can almost sense the air sucking out of his lungs.

There is nothing left of the undefeatable man.

“Lois!” he says, and now he sounds alarmed, and yet he only backs away from her lips for that brief second, but dives into the kiss again immediately.

“Ma’am?” some one else calls, and Lois jumps in surprise, turning around to find that the two guys that where in front of them in the line have left.

“I’m sorry. We were bored” she excuses them, and the cashier just nods. Clark looks mortified. He blushes and keeps his head down as he handles their things to the cashier. The rest of the people in the line have vanished.

“I think we freaked them out with our public display of affection…” he notes, as they walk back to the apartment. Lois shrugs, and holds his arm.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? Now we have more time to keep making out when we get home…” she teases.

Unconsciously, Clark starts to walk faster.

(Lois is pretty sure that if he wasn’t wearing his common man’s clothes, he’d take her in his arms and fly them to the apartment).

  
-oo-

She can’t cry. She wants to shout out loud, to scream for help, but nothing comes out of her mouth. She’s trapped, and the walls of the little room are starting to shrink, until she’s on her knees and out of air. There’s only one name that comes to her lips, one face that comes to her mind.

“Clark!” she yells, at the top of her lungs, but no sound escapes from her lips. She’s lost, alone, scared.

She’s sure she’s going to die.

The walls are pressing against her chest, and suddenly she can’t breath, and losing her consciousness and-

“Lois!! Lois!!” Clark calls her, almost screaming, his voice filled with worry. She wakes up to find herself soaked in sweat, on the edge of the mattress, panting as if she’d just run a marathon. Clark’s eyes shine in the dark, searching her face, and his hands take her carefully, setting her back on her spot in the bed. She sighs, and leans closer to him, resting her forehead against his chest. He’s wearing the suit. She doesn’t even know when he came home.

“It’s ok… it was just a nightmare…” he whispers, taking her in his arms, a hand in her back, and the other in her head. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with his scent, while her heartbeats go back to their normal speed.

“How long have you been here?” she asks, and her voice breaks, but she doesn’t have the strength to repeat the question.

“I’ve just arrived. I heard… I heard you screaming my name” he answers “I was doing my rounds and I heard it” he finishes, and she has the feeling that this has shaken him a little. She opens her eyes and stretches her neck to look at him.

“You should go back to your job, Clark…”

“No. I should’ve been with you” he interrupts her, and he looks so ashamed, so sorry, that Lois feels like punching herself for being such a wimp.

She gets the feeling, though, that he’s not talking just about her nightmare.

“You are here now. That’s what really counts” she assures him, kissing him deeply, feeling the coldness in her skin evaporating away, feeling him breathing against her cheek, and she’s most definitely not talking about the nightmare.

She snuggles closer to him. The soft material of his cape comes around her shoulders, and she nuzzles her nose on his neck, kissing him there, feeling his pulse against her lips. It’s absurd that that’s the only patch of skin that she can get from him.

“I hate this stupid suit” she yawns. Clark laughs softly, his chest bouncing against hers. “What? It’s true. Don’t get me wrong, I love to see you wearing it. Your ass looks amazing when you are in it…”

“Welcome to the honesty hour!” he jokes, still laughing, and she playfully bites his neck.

“Don’t act like you don’t know it, farm boy. Don’t play that card with me” she warns him, and it’s getting really hard for her to stay awake. “The thing is, when you are wearing the suit, you are on duty. And when you are on duty, I know you could fly away in any moment. And I’m not really fond of that” she explains, and her voice gets low and heavy, thick with sleep. He smiles against her hair, and kisses her temple.

“Goodnight, Lois” he whispers, and his lips are still against her skin. That’s the last thing she hears before she falls asleep again.

(She thinks she hears him whispering “I love you” before he leaves her, but she’s almost sure she’s just dreaming about it.

She answers “I love you, too”, automatically. She can’t risk the chance of letting him go without saying it).

-oo-

She’s finishing her bathing ritual when she hears him.

“Lois?” he calls, out of nowhere, his voice wondering in the house. She wraps herself in her bathrobe, and ties her hair in a messy bun, holding it together with the first thing she can find (which is a pencil).

“Over here!” she screams, entering her bedroom.

“Do you know how can I get in touch with the-?” he interrupts himself as soon as he steps in her room, and finds her sitting in her bed, moisturizing in her legs. She can actually hear him swallowing thickly.

Her bathrobe is barely covering her private parts and he can get a glimpse of her breasts through the thin white fabric. She’s fully aware of that. Still, she plays dumb.

“In touch with who, honey?” she asks, putting more cream on her hand. He takes a deep breath, and looks at anywhere but her.

“The Mayor. I want to get in touch with him” he says, and she can tell he’s having a hard time controlling his voice. She smiles.

“Did you try by knocking at his door?” she jokes, standing up and searching for her slippers.

“Lois…” he whispers, and his sounds so worn-out, so tired, that she stops immediately with the mocking.

“I can make a few calls if you want” she concedes.

“That’s my girl” he whispers, and a smile appears on his lips. She grins, then, because there’s nothing better than to hear that coming out of his lips, and comes closer to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“You know… you now owe me a favor…” she says against his lips, standing on her tiptoes. His hands find her waist, and the fabric of her robe is so thin that she can feel his warm fingers against her skin.

She can’t hold it anymore.

She crushes her lips to his hungrily, captures his bottom lip with her teeth, and it doesn’t matter how much she bites him, not a single drop of blood comes up. Her body molds into his, and his hand finds the pencil on her head, taking it off and letting her wet hair fall free, diving his fingers into it. She parts her lips, then, plugging her own tongue inside of his mouth, sighing as she feels him groan, feeling the vibrations coming out of his mouth.

He grips her ass. He does it, takes the initiative for the first time, and she thinks that maybe this is the night, maybe he’s finally going to put his insecurities aside and give it a try.

She leaves his lips and starts to walk away, holding out her hand for him, leading them to her bed.

“Lois…” he says, and it’s almost a prayer, abandoning his swollen lips to fill her heart with joy. She thinks she has never heard something so sexy, so attractive before.

She sits on the edge of her bed, her legs parted, and he kneels before her, his hands on the mattress, on each side of her hips, his lips on her neck.

“How do I get you off of this suit?” she whispers, having to contain her laughter. He smiles against her skin, and she can feel his eyelashes on her pulse point, and for a brief second she wonders how did she manage to live her life when he was not a part of it.

She curses out loud when she hears the explosion.

He stands up immediately, and runs to the window.

“I need to take care of something” he says, looking worried, as usual. She nods, looking down.

“I know, I know” she whispers, and she doesn’t even try to hide the disappointment in her voice. She’s devastated, and she doesn’t care if that’s selfish, or silly, or even childish. She had a long day and all she wanted was to spend the night with him. Like any other wife in the world.

(Wife?)

“I don’t really want to leave you…” he confesses, getting closer to her. She smiles, because she knows he needs that, needs the little push, needs the strength.

“But you have to. I understand” she answers, confidently. He leans down and kisses her, so sweetly and soft that makes her crave for more.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Lois” he whispers, taking a last look at her face, as if he’s trying to memorize it and keep it with him, carry it in his mind for the rest of the night.

Or at least that’s what she’s doing with his face, anyway.

But then he flies away, leaving her alone in the empty apartment, and she immediately understands that no memory can replace him, his presence.

“You should’ve know better, Lois” she says to herself, out loud, because no one is going to hear her, anyway.

(And her name sounds dull when it comes from her lips).

-oo-

She’s on full reporter mode, typing on her keyboard at the speed of sound, holding a pencil between her teeth and mumbling incoherent words here and there.

She’s so concentrated that she doesn’t even notices that’s already half past five am and Clark hasn’t appeared yet.

She doesn’t worry, though. She found a small bouquet of roses and a piece of colored tiled in her balcony when she arrived home, so she’s almost sure that tonight he’s not going to come.

That doesn’t make it any less of a bummer, but it does makes it more tolerable.

They are cleaning the subway tunnels today, she has heard. It makes sense, then, that he’s so busy. It’s an extremely dangerous work, because there’s still a high chance of a collapse, and she knows Clark is doing most of the hard work.

She’s glad she has work to do. In that way, she doesn’t spend the night worrying about him.

She’s already editing her article when she hears his voice.

“Lois…” he says, and it sends shivers down her spine, because he can barely talk. It’s more of a cough, really. He’s resting against the barrels of the balcony, as if he can’t stand up by his own. She runs to her window, opening it and making room for him.

He collapses on the living room’s floor, right on her carpet.

“Clark!” she screams, and she’s pretty sure she has never been more scared in her life. She kneels beside him, rolling him on the carpet so he’s facing her instead of the floor.

He’s having a hard time breathing, and he shakes uncontrollably. She brings her hands to his face.

“What happened?” she asks, cleaning the sweat and the dirt out of his forehead, and she’s on the edge of tears. He swallows.

“I need… your help…” he says, and it seems it takes him all of his force to phrase that sentence (and that’s something, considering he possesses the strength of a hundred men. If not more.)

“Tell me. Tell me what you need me to do” she answers, trying to keep her fear and her nervousness at bay, because she knows he needs her right now, needs her to be his source of comfort, of peace.

He takes her hands in his, and brings them to his right side, right bellow his armpit, over his rib cage.

The first thing she notices is the blood. Thick and warm (and oh, so human) , slipping through her fingers, soaking his cape and the carpet. She presses the wound, feeling his skin pulsing against her hands, taking a sharp intake of air.

“Are you strong enough to take off your suit?” she asks, surprising herself when she hears the calmness in her tone. He nods, and pushes himself up, sitting against the back of the couch, taking the neck of his suit and pulling it down, letting it rest around his hips. His chest is covered in dried blood, and he looks extremely pale. He raises his arm over his head to give her a better angle, and only then she sees the wound.

It’s not really big, only five or six inches long, but it seems deep. She takes a second to think things through.

“There was… a piece of a ship from krypton… I was holding a wall on the subway… and it fell on me. It pierced through my suit and my skin. I took the big chunk off… but there’s more inside. I can see it… it won‘t heal until… we get rid of it” he whispers, and his chest rises and falls quickly, the sweat still dripping down his brow.

“Give me second… I know I have an emergency kit somewhere…” she says, standing up and running through the small apartment, gathering towels and water bottles and a lantern and everything she dims useful. She can’t remember where she putted the kit, though. She usually brings it with her on her travels.

“It’s on the small closet… by the bathroom door…” he manages to say, and she rushes there, thanking God or Jor-El or whomever it might be for Clark’s special sight.

“Ok, this is going to hurt… but just… look at me, ok? Stay with me” she begs. A slight smile appears on the corners of his lips.

“Just… like the first time…“ he says, clenching his jaw. She leans down and kisses his forehead.

“Stay still…“ she orders, kneeling besides him and opening the little kit. There’s not much in there, but the Swiss Army Knife has a good pin in it. The washes it with a bit of Vodka, sterilizing it, and then soaks one of the towels and cleans the wound, to have a better look of it. She turns on the little lantern and puts it between her teeth. She separated the wound with her fingers, then, and he flinches but doesn’t complain.

She sees it, the silver splinter of metal, too little to take it off with one’s fingers. She takes a deep breath, tries to stop her hands from shaking, tried to ignore the blood that is still bubbling out of his wound, or the fact that his always warm skin is ice cold at the moment.

“Lois…” he pleads, closing his eyes, and she takes the metal with the little pin without giving it a second thought, as quickly as she manages.

“Is there more? I can’t see…” she asks, still holding the lantern in her mouth. He shakes his head, smiling, with his eyes still closed. “I’m going to clean it, now…” she explains him, as she leaves the pin aside and starts pouring Vodka in the wound, watching it fall on the carpet a second later, staining the white fabric with red stains, as red as his cape. She gently cleans away the dry blood with a towel, and takes a quick glance to his face. His cheeks are getting some of their color back.

“You need stitches, but I don’t think I can go that far…” she notes, as she prepares a clean bandage to cover the wound. Clark takes her by the wrist.

“Don’t cover it. I need… the Sun…” he explains, and his voice sounds stronger. She nods, and looks outside. There’s a dim violet radiance in the sky, which means that the dawn is almost there.

She helps him to stand up, and they walk slowly to the balcony. She sits on the floor and rests her back in the metal barrels, and he lays before her, his back against her chest, her head on top of his. He sighs.

“I think I ruined your carpet…” Clark says. Lois wraps her arms around him, carefully not to press his wound, and drops a kiss to his shoulder.

“Well, you ruin my life on a daily basis. The carpet is just a little detail” she jokes.

“Lois!” he coughs, in the middle of a fit of laughter.

“Clark!” she mocks him, imitating his tone. He smiles, and closes his eyes.

“I love that…” he whispers.

“What?”

“The way you say my name. How you are always saying it…”

“I don’t want you to forget who you are” she says, and she’s really touched by his words. Nothing prepares her for what comes next, though.

“I know who I am. I’m yours” Clark confesses, opening his bright blue eyes, turning his head to look at her. She smiles and leans down, kissing him tenderly, holding him closer to her.

“I think I can add “cutest man in the world” to your list of attributes…” she answers, resting her forehead against his, feeling his warm breath against her cheek.

“I’m weak, Lois. Don’t play with me” he whispers, bringing a hand to her hair, knotting his fingers in it.

He loves her hair. She knows it. He said so, once. He touches it all the time. She never cared much for her hair until now.

“What do you want me to say, Clark? That I’m yours, too? I think that’s pretty much of a given…”

“It wouldn’t hurt to hear it, thought…”

“Then, I’m yours. Completely. Body and soul”

“That’s better”

The Sun is rising, the rays of light fall in his face, but the smile on his lips has nothing to do with that.

“Thank you for saving my life, Lois” he says, as he gets more comfortable in her arms. She holds him closer, resting her chin on his shoulder, soaking in the warmth of the Sun, and on the heat that starts to come out of his skin.

“Well, somebody has to” she whispers, smiling against his skin.

(There’s something so particular about the way he pronounces her name. Something special. Like everything he does. When he calls her, she feels complete.

When he calls her, she feels at home).

 


	4. know my weakness know my voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took a little bit more to write. But it's almost two times longer than the last one, so I think it was worth the wait! As usual, thanks for everything!! :)

**-iv-**

**know my weakness know my voice**

 

_You ask where will we stand in the winds that will howl_

_As all we see will slip into the cloud_

_So come down from your mountain and stand where we’ve been_

_You know our breath is weak and our body thin_

_Press my nose up to the glass around your heart_

_I should’ve known I was weaker from the start_

_You’ll build your walls and I will play my bloody part_

_To tear, tear them down_

_Well I’m gonna tear, tear them down_

_Cause I know my weakness know my voice_

_And I'll believe in grace and choice_

_And I know perhaps my heart is fast_

_But I’ll be borne without a mask_

 

Babel by Mumford and Sons

 

 

 

* * *

 

As time passes, it gets harder to write about him. Objectively, at least.

 

Lois can’t write an article about his love for Football, or how much he likes to stay awake until dawn just to see the Sun rising.

 

She can’t write about Zod, and how he still feels guilty about killing him. She can’t write about the way he scrunches his nose when he sees himself on the News, how he shakes his head and half smiles when some expert tries to explain the source of his powers, how confused he was the first time he heard the rap song about him that plays in every radio station at any hour of the day.

 

She can’t write about how much he likes to lay on her couch and eat Pringles (his favorite flavor is Onion and Cream) while she types her next article in her laptop, her feet on his lap, his hands on her tights.

 

She can’t write about the way her stomach flutters and melts every time he calls her name, or kisses her senseless, or holds her at night.

 

The thing is, she can write whatever she wants about Superman (except, of course, who he really is). 

 

Superman sells papers as fast as he runs. He manufactures news everyday by playing the hero. To write about Superman is the easiest of jobs. But she’s getting bored of it. 

 

She wishes she could write about the real him.

 

But she can’t write a single thing about Clark Kent (even though she’s kind of an expert in that subject).

 

She needs to go back to her roots, she decides. Back to the hard journalism, back to the ugly truths, to the mud, to the gutters. She just needs to focus in the game. She needs, as she calls it, to go hunting.

 

So she does.

 

The streets are not the ones they used to be, that’s the first thing she notices. The influence of Superman over the citizens is considerable. It’s not clear if he has gave them an ideal to strive towards or a new cause of dread, but either way the change is remarkable. 

 

She writes an article about it. Takes her almost five days of her time to do it. 

 

It gets published, but only on page twenty two. 

 

She gets so mad that she throws her notebook in the first garbage can she can find.

 

“The delinquency levels have drop almost seventy points, Perry! Murders, eighty six points down! Rapes, sixty four points down! Even inside the jails the level of violence between the prisoners has drop! You can’t ignore that!” she screams at him, holding the cards with the graphics in front of his nose. He sighs and takes off his glasses.

 

“I did not ignore it, Lane. Didn’t I publish it?”

 

“Yeah, ON PAGE TWENTY TWO! NO ONE READS PAGE TWENTY TWO!” she screams, loosing her last bits of patience. 

 

“You know what people read? Garbage. That’s what they read. Specially if that garbage is related to your alien friend and his life. His personal life. That part of his life that only you seem to know” Perry explains, talking to her in a condescending tone, as if Lois was nothing more than a four year old. She takes a second to collect herself, because she’s this close to explode. But when she’s about to speak in protest, Jimmy enters Perry’s office, carrying her phone in his hand.

 

“Lois, this is huge. There’s a guy from Red Bull who wants to talk to you about getting in touch with Superman for a new commercial. They say they will create a new energy drink with his name and-”

 

“HE DOESN’T EVEN DRINK THAT SHIT!! HE LIKES THE WATER FROM THE TAP!!” she screams, at the top of her lungs, snatching her phone from Jimmy’s hands and leaving Perry’s office in a rampage. 

 

She gets suspended for three weeks.

 

“Its for your own health, Lois” Perry says “I think you have too much on your plate right now. And I have the feeling that you have not processed everything that happened in the past few months, yet. You need to clear up your head, stay away form the madness, cool out a bit” 

 

She knows Parry cares about her. Hell, he’s almost a second father for her. 

 

But she also knows best. She gets suspended as if she was an intern who forgot to send an important memo. 

 

(She’s a nuisance in her own office. And that hurts.)

 

-oo-

 

 

She throws herself into the couch as soon as she gets home. She doesn’t take off her shoes or even her coat. She just lays there in the dark for a while, looking at the ceiling, waiting for him to come home. 

 

She’s a stubborn, strong woman, and she hardly cries. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t get emotional about stuff, because she does. But she has seen so many awful things in her journeys that she has grown to know that crying doesn’t really fix things. It gives you the illusion that you are dealing with the pain, but when it’s done you feel just as empty, just a broken, just as weak.

 

Tonight, though, she’s so confused about everything that she just can’t help to let the tears run down her cheeks. 

 

She’s about to call it a night and go to bed when she feels the door of the balcony opening, and the cool autumn breeze enters in the apartment like a thief in the night. She shivers, and opens her eyes.

 

“Can we go out tonight?” she asks, and her voice sounds raspy from all the screaming, and all the crying, and everything else. She feels his strong arms picking her up, sees his eyes shining in the pale moon light, hears the soft sound of his cape waving in the wind. Only then she feels complete.

 

“How was your day?” he asks, as he floats them out of the apartment and into the wintry night. A bitter laugh escapes from her lips as she settles between his arms, without worrying for a second about the fact that they are flying considerably high. 

 

“Who cares about how my day went…” she mumbles, burring her face on the crook of his neck, filling her lungs with his scent. 

 

“I do” he simply replies, and she can feel him smiling against her hair. She’d cry if she wasn’t out of tears. She takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air in her throat fighting against her grief.

 

“You surely know your way into a girl’s heart, Kansas. I’ll give you that” she half jokes, smiling for the first time in the day. 

 

“You mean besides using my super-vision…” he asks, and she genuinely laughs at him. Or with him, which is a thousand times better.

 

“Have you been using your super-vision on me, Clark Kent?” she mocks. 

 

“Nope. Never. I’m a gentleman, Lois. I thought your knew that…” he replies, in a serious tone. 

 

“Honey, you can be honest with me. I won’t get mad! In fact, I’d be flattered. Although you should know that you don’t need to use your super-vision to get a glimpse of it. You only need to ask…” she teases, and he takes a sharp intake of breath and rocks her a bit in his arms.

 

“You are going to be the death of me, Lois Lane” Clark states, in a whisper, and there’s a trace of something in his voice that sounds an awful lot like happiness. Or tenderness. Or affection. Definitely a little bit of everything.

 

Definitely a lot like love.

 

“That’d make a great headline! Can you imagine it? I’d have the exclusive, of course. Perry’d be delighted” she says, dryly, trying her best to look at the bright side of the whole situation (or at least crack a joke or two about it).

 

“Why do I get the feeling that you are not having the best of times at the office?” he asks, and she feels him slowing their speed, until they land with a soft thud. She opens her eyes to find herself on the old Campus of the Metropolis University, in the roof of its highest building. They can see the city from here (what it’s left from it, at least), and the Campus is empty. The classes are canceled until further notice, because they are trying to save as much energy as possible until everything goes back to normal (whatever that means). 

 

Clark lays down, and stretches his cape over the cold tiles, inviting her to lay with him. She joins him, molding her body into his own, resting her head in his arm, kissing him in the cheek. Silence falls upon them, then. But that’s not a bad thing, Lois has grown to know. Clark likes silence. When you have the capacity to hear every single thing around you, you end up appreciating silence a hundred times more. He grew up in a farm, away from everything; he was lulled to sleep by the sound of the crickets and the wind. That, of course, if he concentrated hard enough. 

 

So, Clark likes silence and Lois likes Clark, likes to hear his breathing getting heavy and slow, likes to feel him relaxing under her hands, while she rubs absentminded circles in his chest with her fingers. 

 

She can’t write about that, though. No matter how much she wants to.

 

“I liked your latest article” he says, his voice merely a whisper but, nevertheless, genuine. She snorts.

 

“You and only you, apparently. Although Perry did say that people like garbage instead of good, thoughtful articles, but you are not technically people, so you are proving his point” she says, wryly, trying to contain the hatred in her voice. 

 

“I don’t know why, but that kind of hurt…” Clark mumbles, and she feels a pang of guilt. She knows he still feels alone sometimes, feels like an outcast. She can relate to that.

 

“You know, Clark? In many ways, you are my only friend…” she whispers, popping up in her elbow, looking down at him. He smiles then, that pearly white smile that every single tooth paste company is craving to print in their boxes. He runs his fingers through her hair, and she leans into his hand, marveling on the fact that the strongest man in the world can still touch her with such grace and tenderness. 

 

“Having you in my life, Lois… makes me feel secure. I don’t know how to explain it, but I’ve never felt less alone in my life” he says, and his eyes are looking straight at her; “No matter how hard my day was, how badly things turn out, everything fades away when I cross your door” he finishes, and his voice sounds thick with emotion, while his thumb finds her cheek. 

 

She knows it, then. She knows everything  else doesn’t matter. She knows everything else is worth it. The calls and the ultimatums, the angry men in suits that scream at her, the endless list of people who want a piece of her. The headaches, the cold coffees, the late nights. The nightmares, the tears. The pang of worry that she feels when she doesn’t see him for a couple of days, the sorrow that invades her when the night comes and he’s not beside her. 

 

She cries then, because she’s tired. And relieved. And so utterly happy to be with him that she can’t contain whatever the hell is happening to her. She cries and chuckles and leans down to kiss him, her hair falling over his face, his hand finding the back of her head, pulling her closer to him, deepening the kiss. 

 

She urges him to sit up, taking him by the shoulders, and she sits in his lap, sneaking her arms around his frame and her legs around his waist. He breaths deeply, and his fingers press against her back, pushing her closer to him, until his broad chest is smashed against her own, and she can feel the heat that emanates from his body, coming out of his suit, flushing his cheeks. She grinds against him and separates from his lips, to start to pepper kisses down his neck and his jaw and into his collar bone. 

 

“Lois… I know what you are trying to do…” he whispers, panting. She smiles against his skin.

 

“Well, you are a clever man, Clark…” she teases, as her hand slowly travels from his shoulder to his lap, between their two bodies.

 

“Lois…” he repeats, his voice firm now, and she sighs. 

 

She’s reached his limit, apparently. 

 

“Ok, Ok. I get it” she says, standing up and leaving her place in his lap, walking as far from him as the roof allows her. 

 

They fall into silence again. This time, she doesn’t like it that much.

 

She looks at the city then, because she doesn’t want to look at him. A part of her is ashamed of herself, while another part is mad at him.

 

Not at him, really. More like mad at the situation. 

 

Still, she can’t look at him right now.

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to it’s just…-”

 

“I know, I know. You can’t”

 

“No. I feel like… I feel like I’m heading there. And I want it to be special. You deserve that. And so much more, in fact” he explains, and suddenly he’s standing next to her. She smiles, and takes his hand.

 

Sometimes she feels as if he has lived a thousand lives.

 

Other times, like now, she has the feeling that he’s nothing more than a teenager.

 

“It’s always going to be special, because it’s going to happen with you. That’s all that matters to me” she says, leaning closer to him and kissing him on the cheek. He smiles, the kind of smile that lets her know that he needed that, the little push, the confidence boost. 

 

She looks back at the city, then. There are only a few buildings still standing. She can barely see them in the pale moon light. They cut out the power in the central area at night, so she can only get a glimpse of their silhouettes against the sky. It’s a haunting vision, but she can’t rip her eyes away from it. She shudders when she thinks that, from the distance, they look like graves. 

 

“It looks like a cemetery…” she whispers, swallowing thick, crossing her arms over her chest to fight the sudden cold that has overcome her. She feels Clark coming closer to her, circling her with his arms.

 

“Only the LexCorp buildings are still standing…” he notes, standing behind her. She squints her eyes and looks at them, trying to remember which ones are the ones that belong to Luthor.

 

“You are right…” she agrees, and then she feels it: the spark. The tip of the iceberg appearing in front of her eyes. She hears Clark suppressing a quiet laugh behind her. “What?” she asks, turning around, smiling as well. Just because.

 

“You should see the look on your face right now” is all he says, shrugging. She smacks him on the shoulder. 

 

“This is a serious thing, Kent, we are talking about my next big article!” she jokes, relieved that their little misunderstanding has been left behind. 

 

“Why, you are not going to write about me for the millionth time? I’m disappointed” he mocks her, and she punches him right on the chest this time. 

 

“I’m going to write an article about what an awful dumbass you can be, is that fine with you?” she says, pointing at him with her finger. He smiles, and holds her by the waist. 

 

“You are not going to tell me why you have been crying?“ he asks, in a whisper. She shakes her head.

 

“Perry suspended me for three weeks because I was being a nag” she answers, without looking at him.

 

She can’t tell him the truth, no matter how much she wants to. She can’t tell him that the main reason of her discontent at work is related to Superman. Because even though she can separate him from Clark Kent, she knows Clark can’t really see it in that way. And he already feels guilty enough for so many other things, that adding another one could send him to the edge.

 

And that’s the last thing she wants.

 

“Well… you could consider it a vacation and take a time off…but I think that won’t be the case” he adds, a smirk on his lips. 

 

“Well, now you’ve made me curious about these mysterious buildings. I have no choice, Kent” she answers, and he sweeps her off of her feet, taking her by the waist. Next thing she knows, they are on the air again, flying back to her apartment. 

 

“Do you want me to take a look at the buildings for you?” he asks, as they fly through the empty streets. She laughs.

 

“Clark, please. I’ve been doing this for years now. I know where to look” she replies, sure of herself. He frowns.

 

“I was only offering you a hand. I can see things other people can’t. Even the best reporter out there” he explains, laying her down on her little balcony. She smiles at the compliment.

 

“Well, I can also see things other people can’t. Even the best superhero out there” she says, returning the kind words, while she takes off her coat and shoes. 

 

“It’s easy to be the best superhero when you are the only one…” he mutters, sitting in a kitchen chair while she fixes him a glass of water. There’s such a burden in his words, in the grief of his tone, in the way his shoulders drop, that she can’t help to feel sad for him. 

 

So, she kisses him. Takes his face between her hands, and presses her lips against his. 

 

“You are always going to be the best superhero to me. Even if you find fifty other guys in tights and form a League, I’d still chose you” she whispers against his lips, as she plays with his cape. He smiles then, and shakes his head.

 

“Where am I going to find another fifty superheroes?” Clark says, incredulously. She shrugs.

 

“Never say never, Kansas boy. Six months ago, I was convinced that there wasn’t such a thing as Aliens. And here you have me, completely smitten by one” Lois states, without really paying attention to her own words. Clark eyes get as bright as the moon, and his smile turns into a full grin. Lois sighs, hiding her face between her hands. “Why am I so dumb?” she asks, in a whisper, completely mortified. She feels his hands on her shoulders.

 

“If it serves as any consolation, six months ago I didn’t think something as a perfect woman could exist. And here you have me, completely smitten by one” he says, shaking her a little bit, his voice filled with joy. Lois opens her eyes, and has to bite her lip to contain her own grin. She pushes him away from her, because she can’t stand to be so close to him, to yearn for him so much, while not being able to have him (not completely, at least).

 

“Go away, I can’t stand you right now” she teases him, pushing him out of the window “And FOR GOD SAKE, KENT, DON’T YOU HAVE OTHER CLOTHES MORE THAN THAT SUIT? It’s getting ridiculous!” she almost screams, as he floats in the air while she stands in her balcony. He leans closer to her, his cape waving on the wind, his hands on his waist.

 

“You know, Lane? You should know that you don’t need to use that lame excuse to get a glimpse of me. You only need to ask…” he teases, kissing her briefly on the lips, and flying away from her at the speed of sound (she’s almost sure that that’s a fact, and not a metaphor).

 

“Son of a bitch” she mutters, as she gets inside, but then she feels guilty about it. She likes Martha Kent.

 

She doesn’t go to bed that night. She stays up, trying to draw the general lines of her next article, looking at old planes of the city and doing some research on different types of buildings.

 

(She’s back, she thinks. 

 

She didn’t even knew she was gone).

 

-oo-

 

 

She ignores the fact that she’s banned from the office, and heads there as soon as she can. She even has to wait twenty minutes for the doorman to arrive. She bribes him with a coffee and two donuts, and he lets her in, and gives her the keys to the main archive. She spends the whole morning between old papers, taking notes on her phone (which she hates, but she threw her notebook to the garbage and she never got it back). 

 

She skips lunch, and leaves the office trying to pass as unnoticed as possible, heading straight to the city center, with her bag filled with information, her camera ready and her mind buzzing. 

 

She spends the rest of the day analyzing Luthor’s buildings, their surroundings, their construction. She takes as many pictures and notes as she can, taking advantage of the fact that the buildings seem to be empty and closed, without any security guys going around. She even manages to slip into one of the basements and takes pictures of the building’s foundations. She never sees the red cape that comes and goes and checks on her here and there.

 

 Still, when she gets on the train that takes her back home, she feels there’s something missing. She needs something that would tie all the pieces together. She doesn’t know what that something is.

 

She buys some groceries, takes a shower, puts on her pajamas and lays all of her data on the small kitchen table. She spends hours looking at blueprints and searching on the internet, drinking cold coffee and eating only a banana. 

 

She wakes up in her bed at eight in the morning, to find herself safely tucked. The last thing she remembers about the previous night is reading about the report on the last earthquake that shook Metropolis, in the late ‘80s. 

 

She smiles when she pictures the strongest man on the planet carrying her to bed as if she was made of glass.

 

The kitchen table is still a mess when she heads there to fix herself a cup of coffee, but there’s a little package on top of the mess.

 

Wrapped in a shinny blue paper, she finds a new notebook. The first page is quickly written, and she stares at the letters at first, without really reading it, because she realizes this is the first time she sees Clark’s handwrite. She absentmindedly runs her thumb over the page, smiling like an idiot.

 

“If you get writer’s block, don’t put on a flak jacket. Write for me” he scribbled. She laughs. She can’t believe he remembers that.

 

She puts together another package. She wraps it in old editions of the Daily Planet, and writes a little note on top of it with a red marker.

 

“A folder filled with “men on capes”, to make you feel less of an outcast. A shirt, a flannel, and a pair of jeans, to make you feel more at home” she writes in it, leaving the present in the now clean table, and leaving the apartment for another day of searching and taking notes, now in an old school notebook.

 

The City Hall was destroyed, so she can’t use their data center for her research.

 

The Public Library doesn’t exist anymore.

 

Even the Metropolis’ Museum has disappeared.

 

Still, this doesn’t discourage her. If so, it makes her want to find the truth even more because… how come they’ve lost all of these beautiful, important places… and yet Luthor’s properties are almost intact?

 

Their structures, at least.

 

The buildings are missing the glasses from the windows, and they seem to be out of electric power. That’s understandable.

 

The strange thing is… they are completely empty. There’s not even a single paper laying on the floor, a broken desk, anything. She knows there has been reports of lootings on this side of the city, but that doesn’t seem to explain why someone would take everything.

 

The computers? Yes. The furniture? Also applicable. But, the papers and the archives and even the security installations? That’s another case.

 

She’s swimming in a pool of questions, filled with doubts. 

 

And she loves it.

 

She comes back home hours later, when the sun has already set, to find him sitting in the couch, clad in his new shirt and jeans, running through the stack of articles she left him. She plops next to him on the couch, kisses him on the cheek, and leaves her purse on the floor.

 

“Thank you for the present” she whispers, taking off her shoes and turning on the Tv. He smiles, still submerged in the papers. 

 

“I’m glad you liked it” he says.

 

“I’m guessing you liked yours as well…” she jokes. Clark nods.

 

“I love that suit, but I’ve got to say I’ve been missing my regular man’s clothes…”

 

“Well, you are not a regular man. By any means” she points, relaxing in the couch, going through the channels without really looking at them. He releases a soft laugh. “I’d kill for a beer…” she yawns. Clark looks at her, and his almost naïve smile turns into a mischievous grin.

 

“Count to twenty…” he says, giving her no time to wonder, because he disappears out of the window leaving her alone in the little room. She shakes her head, trying to focus her eyes, wondering for a brief second if she’d imagined that he was there on the first place. But then someone knocks at the door, and she opens it to find an enthusiastic Clark carrying a pack of beers.

 

“Jeez, you don’t need to brag, Kansas boy!” she jokes, taking one beer from the pack and letting him in. 

 

“I’d do anything for my lady” he says, pompously, reclaiming his half of the couch and going back to his papers. She lets her head fall in his shoulder, and takes a long sip of her drink.

 

“Still, I think this is the best thing you’ve ever done. This little bottle of nectar” Lois states, shaking said bottle in front of his eyes.

 

“Is it better than that time when I saved your life? Three times?”

 

“Oh, we are keeping track? Because I think I‘m only one down”

 

“And I’m grateful”

 

“That’s better”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“Lois?” 

 

“Yes, honey?”

 

He looks at her, frowning, and he looks so much like a common man that she forgets completely about his true nature. 

 

“Have you ever been to Gotham City?” he inquires, giving her one of the articles she stole for him. She smiles when she reads the title (“Man in a cape saves the City”).

 

“I knew that one was going to call your attention…”

 

“Well, us cape-wearers bros have to stick together, you know?” he says, taking a sip of his own beer. She laughs at his expression. Laughs because it’s true. Laughs because he’s happy.

 

“I wonder if his lady is just as badass as I am…”

 

“Oh, I highly doubt it”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment”

 

“It was meant to be a compliment”

 

“Good”

 

“How was your day?” he asks, as he usually asks, but the question never seems part of a routine. He genuinely cares about the answer. She leaves the now empty bottle on the coffee table, and takes another one from the fridge.

 

“Well… now I have more questions than I had this morning”

 

“You must be delighted, then”

 

“Indeed I am”

 

“My offer still stands. You only need to ask”

 

“Thanks, but I’m fine. Two or three more days of field work, and I’ll be ready to write it”

 

“Ok, but… please, stay out of trouble” he says, leaving his papers aside and giving her a look.

 

It’s a strange look. As if he knows she’s not going to listen to him… and he’s excited about it.

 

Boy, she loves him.

 

(She won’t say it, though. Not yet).

 

Still, she wraps her arms around him, resting her knees on his tight, and kisses him softly, the way she knows he likes. Kisses his jaw line, his neck, his clean cheek, his eyelid, until she reaches the corner of his lips. She stays there, resting her forehead against his, and suddenly she feels tired. 

 

Maybe it’s because she only lets her walls down when she’s with him.

 

He kisses her, his fingers softly caressing her cheek, his lips tasting her as if she was his favorite treat.

 

“You should drink a bit less…” he says, smiling slightly.

 

(You shouldn’t worry so much, it means).

 

“And you should sleep a bit more…” she answers.

 

(You should stay at home more, it means).

 

They agree to disagree, as they keep kissing each other.

 

Softly, tenderly, as if they got all the time of the world.

 

(I can’t seem to get enough of you, it means).

 

 

-oo-

 

 

She wakes up when the Sun is already shining through her curtains, to feel a warm, wet breathing against her neck.

 

He stayed. He never stays.

 

She turns in his arms to look at him, careful not to wake him. His eyes are closed. She has never seen him so peaceful, so calm as she sees him right now. There’s a smile in his lips and his breathing is heavy and low and she can’t help to reach out and touch his cheek. His hair is messy, his skin is warm, and if she could save only one image of him in her mind, to remember him in the future, she’d chose this one.

 

She runs her knuckles down his clean cheek, his neck, his shoulder. She rests her palm against his chest, feeling his heart beating between her fingers, and she leans further into his arms, hiding her face in the little space between his neck and the pillow.

 

He smells like soap. He took a shower before he got in bed with her. He’s wearing nothing more than his boxers and a pair of socks.

 

Maybe this would be their lives if they were normal people.

 

She allows herself to think about it for a second.

 

What if she was just a waitress? A grumpy, messy waitress who serves coffee in a Diner. The kind of waitress that doesn’t inspire you to leave any tip on the table. 

 

The kind of waitress that would only smile, genuinely and brightly, every time that particular lawyer comes through the door. 

 

Tall and handsome and unbelievably cute. The kind of lawyer that wears a cheap suit and fights to make ends meet, because he works on a little firm on the low neighborhoods, and spends his days trying to help the poor and the abandoned.

 

Bacon and eggs, he’d have every morning. She’d give him and few extras slices just because.

 

She’d ask him out and he’d say yes. 

 

Would he? Would he like her (love her, even) if she was nothing more than a waitress? Not the restless, stubborn, too fearless for her own good reporter, but a simple woman with a simple life?

 

She’d like to think he would love her just the same.

 

She doesn’t know if he loves her now. She has the feelings that’s the case, though.

 

He stirs in his sleeps, his legs finding hers under the sheets, his arm holding her even closer. She smiles and kisses his chest, nuzzles her nose against his shoulder, runs her fingernails on his back, softly and tenderly.

 

“Good morning” she whispers, stretching her neck to look at him. He smiles, and opens only one eye.

 

“The best one, I’d say” he answers, kissing her forehead. She chuckles.

 

“You never stop, don’t you?” Lois says, kissing his collarbone. 

 

“Why would I?” he yawns. His fingers find the end of her shirt, and slip under the hem of it. She shivers, and leans closer to his frame, almost impossibly closer. He smiles and hugs her just as tight. “What time is it?”

 

“Too early for you to leave”

 

“Isn’t always too early for me to leave?”

 

“Yes. Well… not when something is exploding or falling or being destroyed. Not when someone is in danger. But now, though… now it is”

 

“I feel like I’m in danger?”

 

“Really, Kent? How?”

 

“I’m in danger of being attached to this bed, to your arms, for the rest of my days”

 

She blushes, punches his chest, bites the first patch of skin that her teeth can find.

 

“I’m gonna write an article. I think we should change your name to “Cheesyman”

 

“I don’t think that’s going to have the effect I’m striving to”

 

His soft laughter makes her laugh, too.

 

She’s sure she has never been this happy before.

 

And then the phone starts to ring.

 

“Fuck” she mumbles, closing her eyes, as if by doing that, the phone would stop.

 

“Do you want me to get it for you?”

 

“Nah, let it ring. Let the answering machine do its work”

 

They stay in silence while the phone rings in the background.

 

Then, it comes the bip.

 

“Ms Lane, this is Robert Lawney, from Red Bull. I’ve been calling you to your cellphone number but it appears to be off. Just wanted to remember you that we really need to have that meeting with Superman. If you are not in contact with him or don’t want to be bothered, please let us know where or how we can get in touch with him. Thank you, have a nice day”.

 

Silence falls between them again. 

 

Then Clark sits in bed, startling her, his eyes fixed in the answering machine.

 

“For how long have they been calling you?” he asks, his voice measured. She sits as well, and takes a deep breath.

 

“Clark, it’s fine, I don’t care…”

 

“Answer me. For how long?” he asks again, and this time he seems to be on the verge of a nerve wreck. She swallows.

 

“Just a few days. Three days at the most” she answers. He nods.

 

“Is this the only guy who is been bothering you?” he mutters, as he stands up, and she’s pretty sure he already knows the answer. So, she doesn’t lie.

 

“No” it’s all she says. He crosses his arms over his chest, and stands near the window, looking outside. Lois runs her fingers against her forehead.

 

“Really, Clark, I don’t mind. Yes, they can be a pain in the ass, but I rather deal with them myself than seeing them bothering you and standing in your way while you do more important things…”

 

“You don’t get it Lois, don’t you?” he says, and he looks so disappointed, so sad about it, that she feels her throat closing. “This is my fault, it’s all my fault. They see you as an intermediary. You are the connection between the world and Superman.  You are the only one that can get through me. They know that…”

 

“And that’s a bad thing?” she says, and she doesn’t know why she’s getting so angry.

 

“YES! Of course it is! Because someday, some lunatic will understand that you are more than just that, Lois. Some day they will see you for what you are, and they will try to use that against me!”

 

“And what am I supposed to be?”

 

“My weakness” he says simply, his voice hoarse from the pain. She flinches, standing up.

 

“I thought I was your strength, you said that” she answers, hurt, walking to him. He smiles sadly.

 

“You are. But you are also the only thing that could break me” he explains, holding her by the shoulders “If anything were to happen to you because of me… I’d die of sadness” 

 

That’s true, and she knows it. She can relate to that. 

 

It’s true and it’s sad and it makes her stomach burn with fury.

 

“I can take care of myself. I’ll take the risk” she says, standing firmly, looking at him right in the eyes. 

 

He shakes his head, drops his arms, takes a step back.

 

“There’s no risk to take” he answers, without looking at her in the eyes, taking the suit that, until now, was forgotten over a chair.

 

“If you leave now, if you fly through that window… don’t ever come back” she says to his back, because he’s deliberatively looking anywhere but her.

 

So long for courage, she thinks.

 

“Goodbye, Lois”  is the last thing he whispers before he’s out of the window, up in the sky, out of her life.

 

She tries to cry into her pillow, but no tears come out, and it smells like him, and the mere thought of his face makes her want to destroy every thing that’s on her reach.

 

So she changes into her working clothes, takes her things and hits the street.

 

When she’s angry is when she’s on the top of her game. And today she’s angry.

 

And lost, broken, shattered, devastated, crushed… Just as much as the ruins and the buildings that once saw them kissing, flying, muttering words of love.

 

(She thinks it’d be easier to fix Metropolis than to mend her heart).

 

 

-oo-

 

 

When she was twenty-one, she received an invitation from the Daily Planet, to spend a Summer working with them, on a one-time program that changed her life. Until now, that first day that she spent in Metropolis all on her own was the most exiting thing that ever happened to her.

 

She carried only a leather backpack that she has stolen form her sister, filled with maps and notebooks and pens. It was the time were cellphones were rare, unless you were Julia Roberts on Pretty Woman.

 

Lois hated those types of movies. Her sister Lucy would sit on the couch and eat popcorn and watch them one after the other. Sex and the City and all the RonComs and stupid movies with women’s figures that were not at all relatable. At least for a girl with no curves, no breasts, no charm and too much brains for her own good.

 

So, she never wanted to become the next Carrie or anything like that. She wanted to be the best version of Lois Lane that she could.

 

Little did she know that years from that she was going to be an icon all on her own, and that little girls from here and there would look at her to model themselves after her image.

 

That first day, though, was equal parts of exiting and horrifying. But Lois came to realize that the best things usually come out of that mix.

 

She wondered around the town, with a map on her hand, trying to soak in in its ambience, its energy. Eventually, she got lost. She was supposed to be on the Daily Planet at eight in the morning but there she was, at seven forty five, completely lost and confused in the middle of a Town that she barely knew. 

 

She tried to find the Subway, but she couldn’t. She turned the map over and in every possible direction and yet, the entry to the trains were never found. Then she realized… she wasn’t the one that was in the wrong. The map was the problem.

 

It was an old map that her mother gave her, and the Subway stations were long gone. There was a new system now, bigger, faster and more secure. 

 

She learned something about the world that day that ended up becoming her life’s motto. 

 

It doesn’t matter how sure you are about something, how reasonable you find it, how much you stand by it, always assume it’s the wrong vision. Try to prove to yourself that you are indeed right. It’s a notion that has made her one of the best reporters in the world. It’s a notion that has made her a better person.

 

(It’s a notion she tries to use with Clark, and it never fails. Every day she’s more convinced that she loves him no matter what. Even today, when she’s mad and hurt and wants to kill him).

 

Her mind is everywhere today. She sees potential stories in every corner. She takes notes and pictures and walks rapidly between the ruins, as if she could sweat away her sadness.

 

Maybe if she’s completely worn out by the time she gets home, she’ll get a nice night of sleep, without worrying too much about… other things.

 

She decides it’s time for a more drastic approach on the Luthor story.

 

She slips inside the first building she sees, carefully walking through the broken window, making sure no one is watching.

 

There’s nothing on the first floor. Not even the light bulbs are left. Lois’ stomach burns with excitement, because she has the feeling that she’s into something huge.

 

Last time she felt this way, she ended up being wounded by some kind of alien machine.

 

And healed by the gentlest alien in the universe. 

 

But she doesn’t want to think about that right now.

 

The first seven floors are empty. Lois assumes there use to be offices there, because this particular building used to be Luthor’s financial centre. There is a kitchen in the eight floor, so there must have been some sort of coffee area or something like that. Then a few floors with conference rooms and bigger offices. 

 

By the time she reaches the rooftop, she’s panting. The elevator doesn’t work, and she’s just climbed fifteen stores. She should go back to the gym.

 

Then she remembers the one she used to visit is destroyed.

 

She gets closer to the edge of the building, and looks at the ruins before her. It’s so strange. She has the feeling she knows exactly what’s going on, and yet…

 

It’s at the tip of her tongue. It’s nerve wrecking.

 

She takes a few pics, and decides to call it a day. To know when to stop and take a step back is just as important for a writer than to know when to push harder, to push the limits.

 

She’s putting her things back in her purse when she hears the steps coming to her, climbing the stairs.

 

Quick, heavy steps. Unfamiliar steps.

 

She hides the taser gun on her back, and the pepper spray under her right sleeve. 

 

“What took you so long, guys?” she says, with a smirk, as two large men appear in the rooftop, both dressed in black suits. The one on her right is carrying a metal stick. The other one holds something that looks like a tranquilizer dart’s gun. She releases a dry laugh. “Really, Big Boy? I’m half your size and you need to shoot me to get your job done?”

 

Both men smile slightly. 

 

“If you cooperate with us, nothing is going to happen to you” the one of her left says, with a deep voice. Lois frowns.

 

“Oh, so you are here to take me out for some ice cream? Maybe a nice movie? I’m sorry, guys, I’m not buying it…”

 

“Then you leave us no choice” the other man says, coming closer to her, closing his fingers around the metal bar. She takes a deep breath. The adrenaline is rushing in her veins, bumping against her temples, making her hands shake.

 

You can do it, Lane. You have done it before.

 

She sprays the first guy right in the eyes, and he falls to the floor, but he manages to reach her leg with the metal bar. The second one is approaching quickly, so quickly she almost has no time to put out the gun.

 

Almost.

 

She shots him on the shoulder and he collapses on the floor, shaking and muttering, right in front of his partner. Lois knows she has no time. Her leg is killing her, but she manages to run down stairs.

 

Then she starts to feel the numbness creeping in her body.

 

Her legs are heavy. Her vision is blurry. She can’t open her mouth.

 

She looks down at her leg and finds the little dart, coming out of her trousers, right on her tight.

 

She’s screwed. She thought she had managed to dodge it.

 

She rips it from her leg but she knows it’s too late. She can barely stand still.

 

Then she hears the rushed steps coming up the stairs. She has no escape. There’s only one way out.

 

And maybe she’s crazy, maybe it’s the poison talking… but she’d rather jump out of the window than let them take her.

 

She doesn’t know who they are, but she doesn’t care. The world is starting to blacken around the edges.

 

She runs to the window, falling on her knees, feeling the cold air hitting her on the face. She can do this.

 

She wants to scream for help but she can’t bring herself to do it, she can’t scream.

 

She’s forgotten she doesn’t have to scream for him to come.

 

“Goodbye Clark” is all she says, as she leans over the edge and closes her eyes.

 

She feels herself falling, her coat dancing in the wind, her hair covering her face.

 

Clark loves her hair. She’ll miss the feeling of his wondering fingers coming down her locks, to her back. She’ll miss the way he would reach out a tenderly put a lose strand of her behind her hear.

 

She’ll die missing him.

She’s surprised when she hits the floor. It doesn’t feel like hitting it at all. It’s more like being embraced.

 

What a lovely way to die.

 

“I’ve got you. It’s ok, you are going to be ok” the floor whispers, his lips against her temple, his arms around her body like a crib. She feels his tears on her cheek. “Please stay with me, I’m gonna take you home” he begs, holding her as close as possible.

 

She falls unconscious then. She doesn’t wonder where this “home” is supposed to be.

 

(She’s already there, between Clark’s arms).

 


	5. too misty, and too much in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry that this took me so long. I was kind of freaking out about this, because it's a huge chapter and I wanted to make it justice. So... I hope you all like it. Thanks for all the reviews. :)

 

**V**

 

 

**_too misty and too much in love_ **

 

Look at me, I’m as helpless as a kitten up a tree;

And I feel I’m clingin’ to a cloud, I can’t understand

I get misty, just holding your hand.

 

Walk my way, and a thousand violins begin to play,

Or it might be the sound of your hello, that music that I hear.

I get misty, the moment you’re near.

 

Can’t you see that you’re leading me on?

And it’s just what I want you to do,

Don’t you notice how hopelessly I’m lost?

That’s why I’m following you.

 

On my own, when I wander through this wonderland alone,

Never knowing my right foot from my left, my hat from my glove

I’m too misty, and too much in love.

 

Too misty,

And too much in love.

 

Misty by Ella Fitzgerald

* * *

 

 

 

Lois is confused at first, when she wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, on a unknown room, in a location yet to be determined.

 

This is not the first time that she faces this situation.

 

So, she’s confused, but not scared. She’s been changed into clean clothes, safely tucked between soft sheets, and her right leg is wrapped in a bandage. The air smells like chicken soup and grass, and the wind comes through the window, cleaning the air in the room, clearing her mind.

 

This is how a home looks like, smells like, feels like. 

 

This is not a cell in some abandoned prison that now a group of terrorists is using as a operational center.

 

Someone is watching her. No, it’s more than that. Someone is taking care of her. Someone who silently knits, while she rocks her chair back and forth on the corner of the room. Someone she has only seen twice in her life.

 

She moves in bed, sitting up, and she has to hold her head between her hands immediately, because the ache is almost unbearable.

 

“Careful, dear…” Martha says, standing up and sitting next to her in bed. Lois smiles at the tone. 

 

She sounds like Clark.

 

“How long have I been… asleep?” she asks, taking the glass of water that the older lady offers her. Martha shakes her head.

 

“I suppose at least twenty hours. Clark brought you home last night. That was a really concentrated sleeping substance they gave you. He checked you up with his vision, made sure you had no concussions or broken bones, and then I cured your wound. He thought you wouldn’t want to be left in a hospital”

 

“And he was right” Lois answers, resting her back against the headboard. “Thank you, Ms Kent. For everything” she adds. The lady smiles.

 

“Please, Lois, call me Martha” she answers, patting her shoulder affectionately. She stands up, then, and reaches for Lois’ pants, that rest on a chair. “Now, I think you need to stretch your legs. Care to join me downstairs for lunch?” she says, leaving Lois’ things in the bed and leaving the room. 

 

The wound in her leg is no big deal, just a little bruise were the dart scratched her skin and another bruise in the back of her knee, where the metal bar hit her. She’s had worst. Much, much worst, in fact.

 

She’s still a bit dazzled, so it takes her a moment to put her jeans and her sneakers. She notices this is a new change of clothes. Clark must have picked them from her apartment. She also notices she’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt, with the Kansas’ logo in the front.

 

She wonders if she might have permission to keep it.

 

She wonders who undressed her on the first place.

 

She sneaks into the bathroom, and she’s surprised when she sees her reflection on the mirror. She thought she’d look worst, but it’s actually not so bad. Maybe she was really needing those twenty hours of sleep. Or the adrenaline rush. 

 

She washes her face and her hands and fixes her hair. Not so unconsciously, she’s trying her best to impress Martha Kent. Their previous encounters have been brief… and problematic. Lois knows she was purposely being annoying in their first meeting, asking personal questions and invading the woman’s private life, and threatening her with her most precious possession: her son.

 

Their second encounter was even briefer, but more friendly. 

 

Still, when you are running against the clock while trying to save the world from an alien invasion, you don’t really think of making a good impression for your possible-but-not-until-a-million-years-from-now-mother in law.

 

So Martha Kent could possibly hate her, and she’d be right to do it. 

 

Yet, she’s taking care of Lois. 

 

Maybe because she likes her, or maybe because she loves Clark way too much, too deeply to say no.

 

Lois can relate to that.

 

She’s walking down the hall, to the stairs, when she notices the red and blue room. She smiles, and steps inside without giving it a second thought.

 

There isn’t much inside. It’s not a big room. But there’s enough space for a bed, a nightstand, a desk, and a book shelve. Everything is painted and colored in blue, red and white, and there are only two pictures hanging on the walls. Lois’ curiosity  levels are out of the charts.

 

In the first one, a five years old or so Clark is wearing a baseball uniform, completed with a hat and a glove, and a tall, black guy that Lois doesn’t recognize, but she supposes it must be a baseball player, kneels  besides the boy. She smiles, and absentmindedly leans closer to the wall, stretching her fingers and touching Clark’s little face.

 

In the second picture, a teenage Clark stands between Martha and…

 

“That’s Jonathan, my husband” Martha says from behind her, making her turn around. The woman walks to her, smiling at the memory. “That was taken the day when Clark turned sixteen. He got his driver’s license that day. Jonathan insisted in teaching him how to drive, even when Clark could’ve run everywhere and arrive just in time, or even earlier. But he was his son, and he always dreamt of teaching his son to drive, so he did. He was so proud. I was proud, too. For both of them” she finishes, her voice filled with emotion.

 

Emotion, not sadness. And even though Martha Kent is shorter and smaller than her, Lois feels as if she’s in front of a giant. 

 

Only a woman this big could raise a child and turn him into a hero.

 

“I made chicken soup and sandwiches. I hope you are hungry” she says, turning around and leaving the room. Lois follows her.

 

“I could eat an entire cow right now” she jokes, as they walk down the stairs. It’s not a big house, and it’s still being repaired, but Lois likes it. It has character. Just like its owners.

 

“I have one on the backyard, but it’s a bit raw” Martha answers, and Lois can’t help but chuckle. She likes her. She really does.

 

The table is already set, so Lois sits in one of the chairs after Martha swears she needs no help. There are only two spots served. She assumes Clark must be back in Metropolis. She doesn’t know if she wants to see him yet, so she’s glad he’s giving her some space.

 

“I didn’t know if I was supposed to call someone. Your parents or… any friends” Martha explains, leaving a foggy bowl of soup in front of her. Lois shakes her head.

 

“No, it’s fine. They are used to my… unstable behavior, and my unspecified whereabouts. They know I can disappear for a few days here and there” she answers, taking a spoonful of soup. It’s a good soup. Really, really good. 

 

“That doesn’t mean they don’t care about you… or don’t get worried” Martha adds, sitting beside her, leaving a plate filled with sandwiches in the middle of the table. Lois nods.

 

“I’ve grown too familiar with that idea in the last months…” she whispers, dipping one sandwich in her bowl. From the corner of her eye she can see Martha containing a smile. 

 

“I like your articles. I read them everyday. I feel like… I’m more in touch with Clark when reading them than before, when he was traveling and living everywhere but nowhere at all. It’s strange, you know? Sometimes I feel like Superman is slowly consuming Clark, and that one day my son, my boy will disappear inside that suit. And yet… reading you articles, I’m not reading about Superman. You write about Clark. But I guess no one notices that” she finishes, shrugging, and taking a bite of her sandwich.

 

Lois has to take a moment to compose herself. Martha’s words have struck her so deeply, have moved her so much, that she’s been left speechless. 

 

She turns her sigh to the little Tv that stands in the corner of the room. She frowns when she sees the headline.

 

“He gave a press conference?” she whispers, looking at the scene that plays in front of her. There he is, clad in his suit, speaking to a mass of journalists and reporters.

 

She recognizes some of them. Apparently everyone in the business was invited. Everyone but Lois Lane.

 

“He’s trying to protect us” Martha says, her own eyes fixed on the screen, shining with pride. Lois leaves the spoon on the table and runs her hand against her forehead, trying to clean her mind.

 

“What did he say?” she asks, but she’s not sure if she wants to know the answer.

 

“Basically, that he’s in no capacity affiliated to the government, nor related to any other group, political party, association, or person. If they want to get in touch with him, they will have to go straight at him. No intermediaries” the lady explains. Lois sighs, and rests her head on her hands.

 

“He thinks those men were trying using me to get to him…” she says.

 

“Were they?” Martha asks. Lois shakes her head.

 

“No. It had nothing to do with him. I was on the wrong place at the wrong time” she answers. Martha smiles.

 

“That probably means you were unto something, right?” there’s a hint of complicity in her tone. Lois loves that. 

 

“I might have something on Luthor…” it’s all she says. Because, in reality, that’s all she has. Martha snorts.

 

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised” she chuckles, as she picks up the dishes and leaves them in the sink. Lois stands as well, because she can’t stand to stay still for a second more. She takes a towel and starts drying the stuff that Martha washes. 

 

The farm is a beautiful place. From the kitchen window, she can see the barn and the windmill, as well as Martha’s garden and the fields. 

 

“I’d have loved to grow up in a place like this” she confesses. Martha looks surprised.

 

“Really? I thought you were more a city kind of girl…”

 

“I am. But I didn’t grow up in a city. I’m an Army Brat. And, believe me, anything is better than that” she finishes, as she piles the dishes over the pantry. 

 

“Clark loved it as a kid. As a young man… not so much. But he always comes back. No matter how far he goes, how long it’s been since he left… he always comes back. And I live for the moment when he crosses the door.” Martha says, with a smile in her lips, as she dries her hands on her apron. 

 

They sit on the table again, and Martha serves two slices of apple pie and two cups of tea. They don’t watch the Tv. Instead, Lois tells her stories about Superman, and Martha tells her stories about Clark.

 

How the kids are now running around the streets of Metropolis wearing an old sheets as a capes.

 

How Clark used to wear an old tablecloth that belonged to his grandmother.

 

How they’ve created a burger with his name. And they putted pickles in it, which Clark hates.

 

How he used to love them, until one day he ate the whole jar in on hour and he got so sick he could never taste them again.

 

Lois laughs so hard at that story that she’s left out of breath. 

 

She couldn’t love him more.

 

“So… they really love him?” Martha asks, looking at her over the rim of her cup of tea. She’s not asking about Metropolis, Lois knows that. 

 

“They really do” she answers. She’s not talking about Metropolis either. 

 

Martha nods, takes a long sip of her beverage, and sets it down.

 

“I think I should show you the embarrassing pictures before he gets home” she states, standing up and walking up the stairs.

 

Lois sits and waits, a smile on her lips, a warmth in her chest that has nothing to do with the tea. 

 

Or maybe it is the tea, and the apple pie, and the bandage, and the comfy kitchen chair.

 

Maybe it’s the steady sweetness of Martha’s voice. 

 

Maybe it’s because, for once, she’s allowed to talk about Clark Kent instead of Superman.

 

(Maybe is because, until now, she hadn’t noticed how alone she felt when he wasn‘t around).

 

 

-oo-

 

 

She doesn’t leave that afternoon. It’s Saturday, and busses are not working regularly. So she has to wait until next morning to take the next bus to Metropolis. 

 

Or at least that’s the excuse she finds. A lame excuse. But it’s enough for Martha.

 

Martha wants to learn to cook that “Korean pork thingy that you cook that Clark likes”.

 

(That’s the actual description he gave to his mother). 

 

So, they hit the market. Lois wears a cap, because she figures it might look suspicious to see Martha Kent strolling around with Superman’s rumored girlfriend. Or friend, at least.

 

They buy everything they need, plus a few beers and a bottle of wine, because Lois’ headache needs to disappear, and that’s what works best for her.

 

They prepare everything they need to start the lesson. They have a deal. Lois will teach Martha how to cook the pork if she teaches her how to cook the “most amazing turkey sandwich you will ever eat”.

 

(That was the actual description, too. Apparently, the Man of Steel finds it kind of difficult to describe food).

 

Clark comes home long after dawn, to find them chopping onions and sipping beers, while Lois tells Martha about that one time when she investigated the treasures of the Third Reich.

 

“I’m sorry… I think I made a mistake? Is this my house or the cooking channel?” he teases, standing behind them, crossing his arms over the S of his suit. 

 

“How are ya, son?” Martha asks affectionately, cleaning her hands with a dishtowel, taking his face on her hands and kissing his forehead. 

 

“Hungry, actually” he answers. Lois smiles.

 

“Aren’t you always hungry?” she jokes, and they both share a knowing look.

 

But then she remembers their fight, and she looks away, suddenly interested in the seasoning of the pork. Martha looks almost disappointed. 

 

“Why don’t you take a shower and put on some normal clothes for dinner?” she asks, patting his shoulder and going back to her task. Clark smiles and nods, leaving them alone.

 

“I’m sorry, Martha. I don’t want for you to feel uncomfortable on your own house…” Lois starts, but the other woman cuts her, putting a hand on her forearm.

 

“People fight all the time, Lois. Specially people who care about each other. And I couldn’t be happier for him… because I know he has found someone who cares enough about him to fight against his demons. He thinks he can do it alone… but we both know better” she finishes, as she checks the bread that they have put in the oven a few minutes ago. Lois sighs, because Martha’s words have just lifted a weight off of her shoulders.

 

“What should I do, then? He won’t listen to me…” she says, leaning against the kitchen counter. Martha sighs as well, a sad smile on her lips.

 

“Give it time. In time, truth prevails. In time, everything falls into place” she whispers, and her voice is loaded with experience. 

 

They are interrupted, then, because the subject of their talk walks into the kitchen, wearing a pair of jeans and a flannel, his hair still wet.

 

“Full-on Clark Kent mode” Lois teases, as she stirs the contain of one of the pots.

 

“Is this suitable for the occasion?” he asks, jokingly. Martha releases a soft laugh and lends him the dishes.

 

“Put the table on, Superman”

 

“Yes, mom” he says, almost childish, smiling like a kid.

 

Boy, how she wishes she could write an article about it! About Martha Kent’s awesomeness, in general.

 

But she’s afraid it might not sale a lot of papers. Perry won’t find Martha good selling material. 

 

(She’s good mother material, though. And friend material. Lois is pretty sure she’s the one who put the “man” in Superman).

 

 

-oo-

 

 

The calmness of the fields under the pale moon light is soothing, to say the least. The wind is running through them, making the windmill squeak here and there, making the trees move in a slow, lazy dance, making her sleepy. Lois sits in the little porch, a glass half-filled with wine on her hand, her legs wrapped in a blanket. She’s far away from Metropolis, were the sky is nothing more than a black and grey roof, graced on some corners by the presence of a few faded stars.

 

But here, in the middle of nowhere, she can see every single star on the sky shining with passion, with excitement. Here, she feels small. And she likes that. She likes to be reminded of her own limits, her restrictions. 

 

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks, coming out of the house and resting against the grilles of the porch.

 

“Not really. My new sweatshirt is really comfy and warm” she answers, without looking at him.

 

“You can keep it. Everything you touch seems to end up being your property, anyway” he jokes.

 

“Not everything” she mumbles, taking a sip of her wine. He sighs, tired. Not of her, she knows that. But he’s tired, nonetheless. 

 

“Would you come with me? I want to show you something” he says, lending a hand.

 

“I’m not wearing shoes…”

 

“That won’t be necessary” he declares.

 

Next thing she knows, she’s in his arms, the glass still on her hand and the blanket on her legs, and they are slowly floating away from the porch and heading to the barn.

 

They enter through a window, and he sets her down gently on the wooden floor. The roof has been repaired. She remembers seeing it destroyed the last time she was here, when they came to pick up Clark’s… space ship.

 

“Yes! I knew I had it somewhere” he exclaims, emerging from a pile of boxes with a wooden box between his hands. “Now, if you follow me to the second floor…” he says, taking the box under one arm and Lois on the other, and flying them up stairs. 

 

There isn’t much there. Is not a big place. There’s a mattress laying on the floor, covered in blankets, a wooden bench and a lamp, as well as more boxes and a book shelve.

 

“I present to you… my nest” he says, leaving the box on the floor and Lois on the bench. She notices then that the walls are covered with baseball and football posters. She smiles.

 

“This is were you used to bring the ladies, Kent?” she mocks him, leaving the glass on top of one of the boxes. He returns the smile.

 

“Oh, I wish that was the case. But teenage Clark was not really successful with the ladies” he explains, cleaning the dust off of the box. “Anyway… this is for you. It belonged to my father, but I think it will find a better place with your collection” he says, lending her the box. Lois takes it and opens the lid.

 

“Who doesn’t like the King?” she asks, taking the records out of the box and giving them a look. Clark kneels in front of her, giving them a look as well.

 

“Oh, this is my favorite” he whispers, taking away the album from her hands, and putting it on the record player. Lois doesn’t recognize the song at first. Not until Elvis starts to sing.

 

“Have I told you lately that I love you…” she whispers. Clark turns around, smirking. “That’s the name of the song, Kansas boy. Don’t get too excited” she explains herself, looking away.

 

“Why, I know that, Lois. What did ya think I was thinking about?” he answers, resting against the little desk that rests in the corner. 

 

Elvis’s voice fills the silence for a moment. And then…

 

“I was so worried about you” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of the music. She shakes her head.

 

“Before I met you, I was sent to jail five times, in three different countries. I was kidnapped seven times. I lost my memory twice. I was shot and beaten in numerous occasions, and I know almost every other type of sleeping-sedating substance. I’ve slept in tents and vans and hostels with hostile men that I didn’t really knew, and I have broke more bones than what I’d like to remember. Once, I spent three days by my own in the Amazon jungle, lost, and I managed to get away from it. On other occasion, I married an Arabian prince, using a fake name, just so I could get inside his circle and write an article about…”

 

“Weapons’ trafficking. I know. I know it all” he says, and there’s a hint of a playful smile on his lips. She frowns, but smiles with him.

 

“How?” she asks, between confused and amused.

 

“You are not the only one who knows how to do some research” he answers, shrugging. 

 

She thinks he has never looked more handsome. But with Clark you never really know.

 

“What I’m trying to say is that… what happened at Luthor’s building had nothing to do with you…”

 

“And yet… I was worried about you” he interrupts her. She sighs. 

“Well, this has always been my life, Clark. I’m constantly in danger”

 

“And I don’t want to be a contributing factor”

 

“What about what I want? Have you give it a thought? Has it crossed your mind?” she asks, exasperated, standing up and walking to him. He crosses his arms, assuming a defensive position. But Lois is not going to drop it. She knows how to pick her battles, and she loves Clark too much to stop fighting for him.

 

Elvis has stopped to sing. But Lois can still hear his words echoing in her brain. So she takes a chance.

 

“I love you, Clark. With all my heart, with every bit of my soul. And loving always means taking risks, taking chances. Even when if you love the most common man on the face of the earth. And I’m glad you are not that guy. Damn, I could have never loved anyone but you!” she says, a smile on her lips, on her eyes, on her heart. She takes his face in her hands, forces him to look at her. His hands come to rest on her shoulders.

 

“You say that now, Lois. But… what happens next? What kind of life can Superman give you?” he asks, his voice thick with insecurity. She steps closer to him, stands between his legs.

 

“You silly boy… I don’t care about Superman. Yes, the hero in the cape excites me. But it’s the guy in flannel the one who drives me crazy. That’s the one who makes me burst with love” she answers, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs. He sighs and drops his hands to her waist. 

 

“My father want me to-”

 

“What do you want?” she’s the one that interrupts him this time. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. She forces him to look at her again, bringing his face closer to hers, until their noses are touching. Unconsciously, his hips also get closer to hers, and his hands tighten their hold on her waist. His breathing feels warm against her cheek. 

 

“What do you want, Clark?” she repeats, whispering against his lips, and her hands play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

 

The answer is simple, short and sweet.

 

“You” it’s all he says, before his lips crush against hers, slowly at first, tasting the moment. She smiles and kisses him back, pressing her breasts against his strong chest, feeling him hoisting her up, his arms snaking around her waist.

 

This is the moment, she can feel it. Her chest is bubbling with happiness, a happiness that turns her breathing into a giggle, that turns her smile into a full grin.

 

Next thing she knows, she’s sitting in the wooden bench, and Elvis is playing in the background, and Clark is kneeling between her legs, his hands carefully taking off her sweatshirt, his eyes never leaving her. She presses her knees on both sides of his hips, because she wants him closer, because she’s afraid he’s going to back up at any minute.

 

But he doesn’t. Not this time.

 

She takes of his flannel, her fingers working quickly with the buttons, her lips brushing against his, warm and wet, biting his lower lip, knowing she won’t hurt him.

 

People call him the Man of Steel, but as he brushes his fingertips against her breasts, she has the feeling she will never feel something as warm and soft as his fingers, drawing patterns in her skin, leaving goosebumps behind his track. 

 

Soon enough, his jeans fall on the floor, and her pants follow them, creating a pile next to his feet. Her hair falls down her back and her lips find his neck, right over his pulse. He smells like aftershave and grass. Fresh and clean like the wind that likes to blow his cape. His fingers dig into her back, never once hurting her, even though he could cut her in half with a small movement of his hands. 

 

She takes a deep, shaky breath when his tongue finds her nipple, making her shiver, arching her back. 

 

“Clark…” she mutters, her fingers swimming in his hair, her teeth nibbling his hear. She feels him smile. “Please…” she whispers, and her voice is filled with lust, with longing, with love, her legs bringing him closer to her centre. The thick fabric of his boxers does nothing to hide his erection.

 

She’s about to loose her mind.

 

“Before… we continue…” he says, panting, just as excited as Lois (if not more) “I need to know…”

 

“I know” she cuts him, smiling brightly. He smiles back, taking her face between his hands, bringing her closer.

 

“I know you know, but still…” Clark whispers, his blue eyes shining with love, his messy curls falling on his face. “I love you, Lois Lane. With every bit of my soul. I love you in a way that I thought I’d never be able to feel. You are a gift, a blessing. And I promise I’ll always do my best to protect you, even from yourself. Because that’s what you do for me. When I’m with you, Lois… I’m not afraid of what I might become. When I’m with you a feel like a man. A really lucky man. A man who could travel the seven seas and still find nothing more beautiful, more perfect than you” he finishes, his thumbs caressing her cheeks, as a teary smile appears on her face. She kisses her thumbs, rests her hands on his forearms, releases a soft laugh. 

 

Lois looks at him, then. Deeply. She searches his face, tries to memorize it, tries to save this image in her mind, save it for a rainy day, save it for the future. Here he stands, the love of her life, telling her he loves her just as much as she loves him.

 

She stands up, smiling at the confusion that appears in his perfect face, and takes him by the hand, leading him to the little nest of duvets and blankets that rest on top of the mattress. She sits there, and he kneels in front of her, his hands finding her hair once more.

 

“I think this… nest has waited long enough to fill its propose…” she says, batting her eyelashes at him. Clark smiles, gently laying her down, settling his arms at each side of her body, hovering over her, as their legs get tangled with the sheets.

 

“He’s not the only one who has waited long enough…” he answers, and there’s a daring note in his tone, and Lois thinks it might be the sexiest thing she’s ever heard.

 

Their lips find each other once more, first barely touching, almost caressing the other. Lois runs her fingers down his back, finding the waistband of his boxers, urging him to take them off, and Clark rips her panties away, leaving nothing but the heavy air between them. 

 

Lois is pretty sure she has never wanted anything as much as she wants- needs him right no.

 

She parts her legs then, and he runs his hand from her knee to her waist, leaning down to kiss her inner tight.

 

“No time for that!” she urges him, as she feels his eyelashes against her skin. He smirks.

 

“As you wish” he replies, kissing her deeply, his tongue finding his way into her mouth, his hand finding her breast once more, as his other hand comes between them. He separates himself form her for a moment, to look at her in the eye. “Are you sure?” he asks, taking a deep breath. Takes his face, her fingertips playing with his hair, brings him closer.

 

“Just look at me, Clark. Look at me and everything will be all right. I promise” she whispers, nodding at him, trying to make him feel safe. He nods back, smiling, and brings an old cushion closer to them, settling it behind her head. She takes his hand and kisses it, giving it a squeeze, encouraging him.

 

She has to suppress a scream when he enters her, because even tho they are not in the house, she’s afraid Martha might hear them. She sighs and brings him closer to her, burring her face in the crook of her neck, breathing heavily as he moves inside her, thrusting against her slowly.

 

Clark also has to suppress a groan, as he rests his face against her hair, his lips against her ear, his hot breathing making her shiver. 

 

“I love you so much” she lets out, and she digs her hands into his back, his hard muscles tensing under her touch. He doesn’t answer, but she thinks he might be a little too busy trying to control himself. “Let go, honey. I’m yours” she adds, as she starts to thrust harder against him, feeling her insides burning already, feeling it building inside her. She takes him by the hair, forcing him to look at her. His eyes are pure pupil, dark and filled with lust, and there’s sweat his forehead, that makes his hair curl even more. She’s never seen anything more beautiful than that.

 

He lets it go, then. His breaths get faster, and she feels him pulsing inside her, shivering with pleasure, reaching his high. Is that, more than anything, what makes her come as well. 

 

Or maybe it’s the combination of everything. His eyes on hers, his skin against her skin, the sound of his heavy breathing, the groan that never leaves his mouth. The way their bodies melt into each other, fitting together like a hand and a glove, making her feel like they are only one. 

 

It’s cheesy and soupy to say that then the world stops for a moment, but Lois doesn’t give a shit, because that’s exactly how she feels.

 

“Are you… ok?” he asks, trying to find the air, looking up and down at her. He’s examining her. She’s about to combust with love.

 

“Only if you stay” she answers, leaning closer to him, drawing a constellation of lazy kisses up and down his neck and jaw. 

 

He lays down then, rolling her until she’s on top of him, bringing a sheet over their bodies. She can feel his heart still racing under her hands, and she kisses his chest, playing with his little hair, nuzzling her nose against it. He kisses the top of her head, her temple, her forehead, releasing a sigh of pure delight.

 

“I’m so glad I chose this planet…” he whispers, and she laughs softly, popping up on her elbows to look at him to the eyes.

 

There’s nothing but love there. A deep, pure love. The same love she feels running in her veins, pulsing against her skin, keeping her alive.

 

“Welcome to the Planet” she says, leaning down to kiss him, her hair falling in his face, her lips sweetly tasting his.

“Oh how I love you, Lois Lane…” he whispers back, his voice filled with happiness, his hands resting on her back.

 

“How? I’d like to know it, Clark. Please. It’s important”

 

“Are you going to write and article about it?”

 

“Oh, I could! But then every other woman (and more than one man) would want to kill me out of envy, and I know for a fact that you can’t live without me”

 

“I can. I just don’t want to” 

 

That’s true. She can, too. She can live a life without him. 

 

A sad, lonely life. But a life nonetheless. 

 

“What happens now?” she asks, as she settles in his chest, resting her cheek against his heart. She can’t hide the worried note on her tone. Even after what they’ve just shared… nothing is settled between them. They are still in a haze. His arms hold her closer, circling her waist under the sheets, as if he’d never want to let go.

 

(She hopes that’s the case).

 

There’s a moment of silence, there. She can hear the soft sound of the wind in the fields, moving the leafs of the trees, making the rusty windmill sing. Clark sighs and drops a kiss to the top of her head.

 

“Now… I need time. To consider things. You said you love the man on the flannel… and I want to be that man as much as I want to be Superman” he explains, while she plays with the hairs on his chest. She nods. She understands. He needs to find himself again. He needs to find Clark Kent.

 

“I’ll give you time and space” she answers. He smiles against her hair.

 

“I don’t remember saying anything about space…”

 

“But you need it. You need to find your path, and that’s something you should do on your own”

 

“You are right. Still… I don’t fancy the idea of being away from you”

 

“Now I feel like every single thing you say is just an attempt to get some action…”

 

“Like what? Saying that I love you? That you are the light of my life?” 

 

His tone forces her to look at him, as a smile appears in her lips.

 

“That will do” she answers, shrugging slightly, leaning down to kiss him once more.

 

Because he deserves it. Because she won it. Because they need it.

 

Because she doesn’t know for how long they will be apart. Because right now they are together. Because he looks too damn cute under the pale moon light.

 

(Because she might not be his priority, but she surely is the thing he loves the most. And never in a million years did Lois Lane imagine that that would ever happen to her).


End file.
